


Casey vs. Human Elements

by Skyesurfer12



Series: Redemption Series [2]
Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 84,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyesurfer12/pseuds/Skyesurfer12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only days before the ‘Awesome’ wedding, a mysterious black ops mission separates our boys. Chuck must juggle a new handler, his own rogue operation, his zealous bride-to-be sister, and a reluctant groomsman… who happens to be his ‘under the cover, trained assassin, spy-handler’ boyfriend.</p><p>Oh crap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story returns us to season 2 (and follows my fic Casey vs. Redemption, which you can find here as one of my completed works. However, prior knowledge of that fic is not required. Helpful, but not required.) 
> 
> Enjoy!

Casey vs. Human Elements

Chapter One

-x-

“It goes without saying that your work here has been highly commendable, major. Even after Agent Walker’s ill-timed departure to join Agent Larkin, you have managed to lead my most successful team, and at the same time, control the asset. Keep him within appropriate emotional boundaries, as it were.” The general paused, eyeing him carefully through the monitor. “Boiling it down, your cover has been unparalleled in its credibility.” Beckman’s face briefly creaked into a half-smile.

The cover. Casey had to bite his lip to stop the snort. If the wily bitch knew that the ‘cover’ had plunged down that slippery slope and entangled her prized bulldog in something more tangible several months ago, her left eyebrow wasn’t giving it away.

“– significant progress with the Intersect –”

… And the full exposure of the ‘significance’ would bust him to a First Sergeant stationed in northern Manitoba before the general could disconnect the video feed.

Standing next to the conference table in Castle, Casey felt his spine stiffen. No way in hell did the general call him here to give him the proverbial pat on the back. The NSA agent kept one hand on his belt buckle, one at his side, and listened for the size fourteen shoe to drop.

“If I’m to understand accurately, everyone – his co-workers, his sister – believes that you are the asset’s boyfriend.” Beckman’s tough features relaxed only minutely, and she lowered her voice. “I know it must be difficult for you, major. But, I would expect nothing less from a man who spent six months in the Khyber Pass and eighteen months in isolation in Abu Kamal. Simply put, you are my best agent.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Where the fuck is she going with this?

The order had come down while he was restocking the half off DVDs – the MTRS section, the green shirts called it. The clearance bin for Movies That Royally Sucked. The text from the general had been unambiguous and precise, much like the tiny general herself:

‘Castle de-briefing in ten minutes. Leave the asset at the Buy More’ 

Now perched behind her wide desk and beaming in from Langley, the general went on. “Your loyalty to your government, along with your intense bond to Operation Bartowski, is why I have selected you for a … clean-up operation. I need you to rectify a situation.” The general’s features hardened. “With Fulcrum operatives now infiltrating our agencies, you are the one man I can trust. I’m pulling you out of Burbank.”

The NSA agent opened his mouth, but he remembered his place on the food chain, and he stopped before it bit him on the ass. Stepping around the conference table, he shortened the distance between himself and the monitor, as if getting a closer look at her face would reveal the murky objective of this call. Casey cleared his throat to start again, carefully choosing his words. 

“General, am I being removed from Operation Bartowski?”

“Temporarily,” she replied. “The duration of this mission will be up to you, dependent upon how quickly you can achieve the objective.” 

“The objective, ma’am?”

The general leaned forward in her chair, thin worry lines creasing her forehead, and Casey was tuned into the faint change in her demeanor. “Major Casey, there’s the possibility that the identity of the Intersect may become compromised. As you know, we cannot allow that to happen. Your knowledge of his identity, and the fact that you are the safeguard of our highest level secret, is the reason you were chosen specifically for this operation.”

“So, someone – Fulcrum, MI6, hell, Al-Aqsa – may know that –”

“– may gain access to that heavily encrypted Intel. But unfortunately, major, it’s much larger than the Intersect’s identity.” She stopped, glancing down at the legal pad in front of her before looking up to examine his face. “There is no one else I would trust with the sensitivity of the data you are tasked to retrieve. I need to call upon your special skill set.” 

“What is the form of the Intel, general?”

An image of a silver-colored disk etched with interconnected circles was enlarged on the screen. “The Core. Think of it as the key to the DNI’s inner vault. This key, in the wrong hands, will open the vault –and all of our secrets, top level clearance, will be available to the highest bidder.”

Outwardly, Casey straightened to his full height and put his hands behind his back. It didn’t stop him from feeling a drop of sweat sliding down a path between his shoulder blades. “Will the asset remain in Burbank?”

“Yes,” she replied after a pause, her mouth tightening in a deep frown. “For the time being, at least. My analysts have advised me that the individual in possession of the Core does not have access to the encryption algorithm. But he has some indication of its worth on the black market, and we think he’s connecting to potential buyers. Buyers who could decrypt our Intel.” She waited for the implications to sink in before circling back to the question of the asset. “Therefore, until we know with certainty if a breech has occurred, the Intersect will remain where he is. Under twenty-four protection, of course.” 

“General, if I may ask, while I’m re-assigned, who will –”

“I’m bringing in another handler to monitor the asset during your absence.”

A thick ball of anxiety weighed heavy in his stomach. Casey strangled it down. Tilting his chin towards the screen to inspect the diagram of the Core, the agent then slanted a sideways look at the general. He could not, would not, let himself show her a spark of fury, or give her a glimpse of the depth of unease eating at him. 

“Will the handler be made aware of Chuck’s true identity?”

“No.” With a fleeting glance down, she flipped through a thin manila folder before closing the cover and sliding it off to the side. “The placement of the handler is only temporary. He’ll only be told that a high level government asset requires strict surveillance. Around the clock protection. There’s no need to bring him in fully – unless you fail, major.” 

“How do you know you can trust him?”

The question wavered on the precarious brink of insubordination, but after consideration, the general let it go. “Because,” she said dryly, “he reminds me of an ambitious young man I recruited into the NSA fifteen years ago.”

-x-

“How am I supposed to start that conversation, exactly? ‘Hey, Ellie, one of your groomsmen – oh, who happens to be my boyfriend – has to go out of town and may not be back for the wedding.’ Do you have any idea what this is going to do to her?”

“I told you. I’ll be back.” Casey tapped the kid’s thigh with his knuckles. “Do you have to stand there? “Move your legs. I have to get into that drawer.”

“She’ll freak out!” 

“She will?”

Chuck frowned at him for a long moment before sliding over so that Casey could open the top drawer of their dresser. “But, I don’t understand. Why does it have to be five days before the wedding? Can’t you just tell the general –”

“What? ‘Sorry, general, but I really don’t want to go right now. This mission doesn’t fit into the Bartowski social calendar.’ Should I just tell her I’m completely compromised with my asset, and that I need to be here? Is that what you want, kid?” A stack of black t-shirts and socks got tossed into the open duffle lying on their bed. “Chuck, I’m an officer. I take orders. I don’t get to pick my missions.”

“But, what will I tell Ellie?” Chuck’s eyes followed the agent as he stalked into the bathroom. “She’ll want to know why you’re suddenly leaving like this.”

Casey didn’t answer right away and he sure as hell didn’t look up from his packing. “She already knows I’m military – she’s observant so I’m sure your sister has noticed the West Point ring.”

“She may have brought it up.”

Ducking around the corner, Casey narrowed his eyes and sauntered up to the kid. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing, okay. Just that you were in the military, and that you don’t talk about it. Did I lie?”

“Okay, good. That’s the story.”

“What? What story – did I miss something here?”

“Tell her I’m in the military reserve force. I’ve been called up for weapons re-certification training.” His shaving kit landed on top of the t-shirts, and Casey turned towards the dresser again. “You can tell her that’s it’s a short stint, and I … should be back within five days.”

“Should be?” Chuck glanced down at the duffle and he folded his arms over his chest. He blew out a huff of resentment. “And, if you’re not? Well… what do I tell her then?”

“Move your legs again. I need to get to my boxers.” The kid scooted along the front of the dresser so that Casey could open the next drawer. “You’re supposed to be the genius here, Bartowski. I’m sure you’ll think of something without blowing our cover wide open.” Grabbing a stack of clothes, Casey stopped and gave him an inscrutable look, studying him intently. Then, because it was the illogical and uncontrollable and screamed compromised, the NSA agent bent over the kid to bury a kiss in the dark curls at the top of his head. “Just shut it, okay? It’ll be fine.”

Chuck gave him a sour look. “Where are you going anyway? You haven’t told me anything about the mission, or if it has anything to do with Fulcrum, or Orion –”

“Orion?” Casey raised a brow at him as he rifled through a drawer of neatly creased polo shirts. “No, it has nothing to do with Orion.”

“Then what –”

“Classified, kid. You don’t need to know. That’s the way it works.”

“I’m classified, dammit. Can’t you put your protocols and rules to the side for one minute – especially since I happen to have this thing taking up space in my brain that may be able to help you? Maybe you’ve heard of it. Called the Intersect? Does that ring any bells? Did the general even mention me?”

Without a word, Casey tucked the polos into his duffle and zipped it up. He glanced down at his watch before stepping over to the dresser to stand in front of Chuck again. 

“Well?” the kid asked.

“It’s almost five o’clock.” The agent licked his bottom lip and let out a resigned breath. “I have to leave in three hours on an off-the-grid mission. Is this how you think we should be spending our time?”

The stab of guilt was written all over Chuck’s face. He let out a sigh. “Point, okay? Yes, I know you have no choice, and I shouldn’t be forcing you –”

“Force?” Casey snorted.

“– asking you to negotiate assignments with Beckman. So,” Chuck looked up at him under his lashes with a half-crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “three hours, huh? What did you have in mind?”

In reply, large fingers latched onto the knot of his tie and began to deftly loosen it. A few yanks and pulls at Chuck’s collar, and the swath of silk was removed in a long drag. Casey tossed it on the dresser. 

“Is it me, or are you getting better at that? You know, more –”

“Do you always have to yammer during this part?” Casey muttered as he quickly unbuttoned the top two buttons of Chuck’s white shirt. Reaching under the collar, the agent tugged the fabric down the kid’s shoulder, exposing the curve of his neck. 

“I thought we agreed that I – gah.” 

Casey was still amazed that it had taken him so many long-ass months, suffering through the noises and sounds that erupted from the kid, to figure out he could shut him up so easily. 

Just by doing something as simple as this. Who knew the nerd was so damn sensitive right there at the little hollow under his ear?

Then, lowering his head, the agent drew his tongue in a hot, moist path over the skin now bared at Chuck’s neck, sucking and then biting down on a small tender spot along the tendon. 

“…ohhhh….” Inhaling deeply through his nose, Chuck tilted his head to the side to give Casey better access to his neck. “Three hours…?” the nerd breathed, and his eyes drifted close. “This plan was way better than mine.”

-x-

“I take it that the Castle facilities are satisfactory, McClure?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The young NSA agent kept his eyes riveted to the screen. He focused his pin point stare on a strand of red hair that had escaped from her tight bun, curled over her temple, not daring to look a four star general in the eyes.

“And I take it you reviewed the mission parameters that were delivered to you.”

“Yes, ma’am, on the flight.”

“Good. Then you’ll have no problem if I review them with you one more time to ensure each line is understood.” Beckman didn’t wait for the young lieutenant to reply or acknowledge her order, because the brisk tone told him she fully expected he would absorb every word. “There can be no miscalculations. I’ll start at the beginning of the mission file, agent.” 

For the next hour, the general poured over the operation parameters in meticulous detail – carefully omitting, of course, data that would compromise the Intersect. The young man stood at full attention while she addressed him; nodding at the correct moments, eyes never wavering from the screen, no insertion of foolish jokes or distractions.

Why had fate put the Intersect in the mind of Chuck Bartowski, instead of a man like McClure? She inwardly groaned at the gods for punishing her while she studied the promising officer who was now poised in Casey’s usual place next to the long table in Castle.

Brandon McClure was tall and carried the muscular frame of a man who had spent some time between the goalposts. It was true that she was secretly proud of the fact that the top brass noticed him when he entered a room – a commanding presence for a junior officer. The fact that his shoulders were wide enough to almost brush against both sides of a door frame as he set foot inside helped solidify the steely mien. Quick-witted, shrewd, headstrong… indeed, fifteen years had passed since she had been entrusted with a recruit that possessed so much untapped potential. 

“I’ve reviewed every specification with you, McClure: the subject’s workplace, his home, security protocols, your cover for the duration of the assignment. But, I’m sure you have one question for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He shifted his eyes to her face for a split second. “The mission report simply refers to him as ‘the asset’. Ma’am… who is the subject?”

“That fine point is redacted from all of the team’s mission reports, and the final eyes-only detail I’ll cover with you.” The general touched a button next to her monitor. “Chuck Bartowski is the high level asset that you will be tasked to handle.” Instantly, every monitor in the bay of computers was filled with an image of a curly haired man in his mid-to-late twenties, wearing a white shirt, grey tie, and pocket protector. The closed-mouth smile telegraphed uncomfortable geekiness. 

Despite his years of practice at holding a blank yet resolute stare in the face of all situations, the general could not help but notice that her agent visibly flinched when his line of vision cut to the monitor. Then, she watched as his eyes widened in bewilderment.

“Is there a problem, McClure?”

The officer assumed his rigid posture and snapped a flattened palm to his forehead, gazing dead ahead. “General, permission to speak, ma’am.” 

She ignored the salute, and considered briefly ignoring the request, but decided to hear him out. “I’ll allow it. Make it quick, lieutenant.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Relaxing his shoulders by a millimeter, the blonde haired NSA agent glanced at the monitor. “Doesn’t the NSA have its own crack IT squad, general? What could the US government possibly want from this man?”

Bristling, she tapped her pencil on the desk and gave him a look that told him he had damn well overstepped his bounds of free speech. “That man is your mission, Agent McClure. What you are looking at it is the most important security asset the DNI possesses. Mr. Bartowski will be in your hands – temporarily. You will monitor him twenty-four seven until his primary handler is reinstated.” Beckman paused, sizing up her young NSA agent with hazel eyes that could wilt stone. “Perhaps I made a mistake assigning you to an operation of this criticality. Do I need to be concerned with the possibility that his identity may show up in your Facebook status or somewhere else we’d rather it not?”

“Ma’am, no ma’am.”

Her eyes darkened, and she drew out the silence to make him squirm under the pressure. “Good. We’re clear then,” Beckman said, her voice even. “Welcome to Burbank, McClure.” The video feed ended abruptly, though Chuck’s image remained front and center on the large screen.

Slumping his shoulders in relief that he still had his left ass cheek intact, the tall NSA agent let out a breath he had been holding, and glared at the awkward grimace on the nerd’s face.

“You have got to be kidding,” he grit out between clenched teeth. “God, what a fucking dork.”

-x-

The bedroom was dusky and humid. Casey had closed the blinds, but the sunlight slanted through the narrow opening of the slats, and Chuck watched the evening beams painting orange shimmers of stripes against the wall. 

The kid lay on his side, one arm over Casey’s middle, and his head tucked on the agent’s shoulder. Long limbs were tangled under the body-warmed sheets, and Chuck kept quiet, knowing that this was as close to cuddling that Casey would allow; noise would only startle the other man out of bed. While he watched Casey’s chest rise and fall, he drew his fingertip in a tiny loop over one of his pecs, pressing into the hardened muscle, feeling it bunch and roll under the skin. 

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Casey sighed. 

“Really? Because I think you should do this. Often.” Chuck angled his head to kiss his ribcage and drag his fingers down Casey’s abs.

That earned Chuck a distinctly flavored Casey-snort. “Not this, numb-nuts.” 

He had learned what Casey actually intended by calling him ‘numb-nuts’ right about the time their relationship had changed, so the kid only smiled. “Oh, I thought you meant… shouldn’t be doing what?”

Reaching into the drawer of his nightstand, Casey pulled out a nondescript cell phone and activated it.

“What is that?”

“Burner. Untraceable. It’ll allow us to communicate while I’m gone. Without interference from the agency.” Casey handed him the phone. “Keep it out of sight. Don’t let anyone see that.”

Chuck grinned at him and tossed it on his nightstand. “Does this mean –”

“What the hell did I just say? Out of sight, Bartowski.”

“Okay, okay… geez.” Rolling over, the kid opened the side drawer of his nightstand and dropped it in. “Nag, nag, nag…” he muttered and twisted around to get under the sheet again, his head resting in the crook of Casey’s shoulder.

“There’s something else.”

The kid’s head popped up. “Uh-oh,” he said. “I can tell, I’m not going to like this.”

Casey rubbed his tired eyes and exhaled, bracing himself for the reaction. “You can’t stay here on your own.”

“Wh – what!” The kid was already trying to clamber out of bed, kicking the blankets off to get on his feet. “Not lockdown, Casey! I can’t just… disappear days before Ellie’s wedding! She would more than freak, she would –”

“Chrissakes! Would you hold still?” Casey grabbed him around the middle and shoved him back down on the mattress. “Listen to me.”

“Get off me, dammit! You weigh as much as Iron Man!” Chuck battled uselessly, and Casey just shifted his bulk to hold him down until the struggle had worked its way out. Finally simmering down, Chuck looked up at him with an icy stare. “You’re knee is right in my –”

“There. You gonna listen, now?”

“Do I have a choice?” Chuck huffed.

“No,” Casey told him, looming over his flushed red face. “There’s gonna be another handler assigned while I’m gone.” 

“Why?” Chuck’s mouth dropped open. “It’s only going to be a few days, right? Why can’t I be on my own?”

Casey shook his head in amazement that Chuck would even need the agent to explain this shit to him. “In the past three months you have been kidnapped by Fulcrum agents – what, four times? It’s nearly impossible to keep track – almost got blown up twice, shot at… oh, and how could I forget –”

“Stop. I get it.” Chuck’s face darkened. “So, what does this mean?”

“It means that this is only temporary, until I get back.” Feeling Chuck’s lean body release the tension underneath him, Casey loosened his hold. “He doesn’t know about the Intersect. And, he won’t find out.” The words were laced with an unspoken threat. “You’re benched until the wedding. Think of it as a vacation.” 

“Some vacation, huh? The government will be breathing down my neck, Ellie will be rearing her head from Mount Doom like a demented Orc-bride possessed by – ow!”

“Nerd talk. That’s your first warning.”

The kid glared up at him, rubbing his arm. “And, you’ll be gone.”

“For a few days.” Giving the kid one last look that promised more man-handling if he didn’t keep his damn emotions in check, Casey rolled off of him and settled on his back. “C’mere,” he said, sliding his arm over Chuck’s waist and dragging him close, giving in to the urge to close the space between them again.

Chuck wedged against him and put his hand on Casey’s chest. “When does the new handler get here?”

“He’s in Burbank already – at Castle right now, being debriefed for his new assignment. The agent will be staying in ‘your bedroom’ across the hall. The cover, remember? You’ll stay here in my room.” 

Chuck jolted. “He has to stay here? Why?!”

“Twenty-four hour surveillance until I get back.” 

“And why does the government find that last degradation of my privacy necessary? What’s with the strangle-hold on security all of a sudden?” Chuck stopped and glanced up at Casey with a face full of concern. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”

“No.” Lying to the kid was getting harder. 

“What about the Buy More? How will he –?”

“Guess who the corporate honchos have sent as a visiting quality auditor starting tomorrow, nine am?”

“Oh crap.”

“Heh. I’m just sorry I won’t be there when the new agent gets to meet ‘Jeffster’.” For the first time that day, Casey let loose a sardonic belly laugh. “Maybe some of the higher ups will believe me now when I tell them I need combat pay for this fucking assignment.”

“If it’s any consolation, I always thought you looked good in kelly green. And, ‘this assignment’? On some level, I should be highly offended by that.”

“Hate to tell you, kid. No one looks good in that color.” Taking a deep breath, Casey linked his fingers around Chuck’s wrist and tipped his chin down to leer at him. Then, he drew the kid’s hand down a path over his belly and crept lower still. “Though, being your handler may have some benefits…” he said huskily. 

Chuck let his hand get tugged down, trailing his fingers across his warm skin. “What’s this guy’s name anyway?”

“Mmm.” Casey closed his eyes. “Do we need to talk about this right now?” His tone held a gruff impatience that caused the kid to stiffen defensively. Chuck started to pull his hand back. 

“I want to know.”

“Okay. Then, are you done? Jesus,” Casey grumbled. “NSA Special Agent Brandon McClure.”

Chuck’s eyes rolled back and he sucked in a deep gasp, letting the Intersect send a crashing wave of images to his brain. After it had finished the heavy lifting, Chuck blinked and shook his head. He sprung up on his side so that he could see Casey’s face. “Oh my God…”

“What the hell, Bartowski. Are you – did you just flash?”

“C-casey?” he sputtered. “What’s a 49b?”

Casey stared at him. “That bitch,” he spit out, and looked away from Chuck’s searching eyes.

“What? Who?”

“Not important.”

“But what does that code even mean –”

“Nuh-uh.” Casey stopped him from going any further by bringing his hand up and resting his thumb over the kid’s lips. He pressed lightly, brushing it side to side with a couple of soft swipes. “You don’t wanna know.”

Eyeing him for a minute, Chuck tilted his head and gently bit the end of Casey’s thumb. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Yeah, well, trust me on this one, kid. Let me take care of it.” Focusing his gaze on Chuck’s mouth, Casey lightly pushed his thumb between the kid’s lips and waited for the reaction Chuck knew he wanted.

The kid closed his eyes and took Casey’s thumb in his mouth, looped his tongue around it, up and down the length. He worked it teasingly while Casey watched, the agent’s eyes becoming lust-glazed just by observing the show…. Getting it wet, swirling in little circles from the knuckle to the tip. Sucking down on it. 

“Fuck,” Casey murmured, biting his teeth down on his lip. “Like how I taste, kid? ‘Cause, there’s a lot more.” 

With one last suck, he let Casey’s thumb slide out of his mouth. Chuck blinked at the wolfish grin, and then rolled his eyes at the other man. “Buddy, when you’re listing off your strengths –and don’t get me wrong, you’ve got plenty – I want to let you know that subtlety is not one of them.”

Casey had a smug look on his face. “Gotta be direct. That way, even a nerd like you can catch up without reading the instructions manual.” And then, just in case the signal was still lost on the kid, Casey jostled his shoulder, deliberately nudging Chuck’s head from its resting place in the crook of his arm. 

“Hey, I was comfortable there!”

“You’ll like my idea better.” Lacing his fingers through Chuck’s curls, Casey leaned down and shut him up with a firm insistent kiss. “We only have an hour left,” he mumbled against the kid’s lips. “C’mon.”

-x-

“Hey, Chuck, you didn’t pick up your phone five minutes ago.”

“Uh… sis, I was a little… busy here, but I figured maybe it was a national – ah – emergency after you called six times in a row?”

“Are you okay? You sound a little –”

“I’m fine. Really. Stop that!”

“Stop … what? Chuck, are you talking to me or is –”

“No, no, no… it’s just…Casey was – sis, is there a national emergency?”

“Yes, no, wait – bigger than that, Chuck. I need to provide the DJ with the list of approved songs in chronological order for the reception. This is your area of expertise! I need you over here – chop-chop.”

Ellie listened to what sounded oddly like a muffled yelp. “Chuck? Are you there?”

The phone went dead. 

Staring at the display, she bit her lip and turned to her finance. “Devon, I think something’s going on with Chuck. He’s acting ...I don’t know – very strange lately.”

“Babe,” her finance stopped her with a pointed look. “John’s baby has been parked in the carport all afternoon, and it’s been suspiciously quiet over there.” He quirked a brow at her. “I think your little bro is busy.”

She blushed crimson. “Oh God!” 

-x-

“God, I hate to do this.”

“What?”

“I have to get up.” Chuck lifted his head from the warm nest in the crook of Casey’s arm, and nervously pushed his fingers through his hair. Kicking the blankets away with his feet, he stretched his legs and let go of the warmth. “Time to face the firing squad. I need to go talk to Ellie.”

“No, wait. I should be the one to tell her.” 

“No, you wait.” Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Chuck leaned forward and put his hand on Casey’s upper arm, stroking his thumb absently over the swell of muscle. He briefly closed his eyes and just sat for a several seconds, carefully considering what he wanted to say. 

“Well?” The NSA agent raised a brow at him.

“Casey, you’ve faced down Fulcrum operatives, Igor the terrible, the boogie man, and every other threat the world’s nastiest terrorist organizations could throw at us – and you still protected me.” Chuck paused and glanced at the window towards his sister’s apartment across the courtyard. “But, ninja-crazy-bride-to-be Eleanor Faye Bartowski? That is one threat too formidable for even the all-powerful, invincible –”

“– shut it. I’m not one of your goddamn comic book superheroes.”

“– John Casey. And, agreed. You’re more in the genre of a molded action figure… with intriguing posable parts, I may add…” 

“Eh.” Casey rolled his eyes.

A wan smile crept on Chuck’s face. “I’m going to face Ellie alone.”

“Can’t let you take that bullet for me, kid,” Casey said as he started to sit up, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Where the hell are my pants?”

Buttoning his wrinkled white shirt, Chuck was already half dressed, and he blocked Casey from climbing out of bed by standing in front of him. “Casey?”

“Yeah?” Casey looked up at him with a puzzled frown. “Move your ass so I can get up.”

Ignoring him, the kid lowered his head to drop a light kiss on Casey’s neck, and licked a teasing moist path to his ear lobe. Then, with his nose tucked at the agent’s nape, he breathed in a huge whiff of air. “What time do you have to leave?”

“About twenty minutes. Why?”

“Don’t you think you should take a shower to wash off that cologne before the NSA transport gets here?”

“Cologne? What the hell, Bartowski? I don’t wear cologne.”

“Really?” Chuck took another sniff at his bare neck. “Because, what I’m smelling is ‘eau de-I-just-indulged-in-hot-sweaty-animal-sex-with-my-asset’ cologne, and since you’re getting on a plane in – what, maybe an hour? – with an NSA crew, you may want to take a –”

“Shit. I’ve got to get in the shower. Get out of my way.” Casey started to push Chuck to side so he could get up, but he stopped and looked up at his asset again with a sly grin. 

“What does that look mea –”

But pulling the kid down by the collar, Casey pressed his mouth to his, hot and wet and hard, threading his fingers through Chuck’s hair and holding him there. His tongue swept the kid’s bottom lip, coaxing him to open, and when he did, Casey sucked lightly and imprinted his mouth with the taste of him. The caress of lips pulled a groan from deep within the kid, but as quickly as the kiss had hit him, it was over.

“Bartowski?”

Chuck blinked. It did nothing to rid himself of the buzzing in his ears. “Uh, yeah?”

“You need to stop wearing my cologne. Your sister might get the scent of it.”

The kid’s eyes flew open in panic. Lifting the front of his shirt, he dropped his head to take a sniff.

“Oh God!”

Casey smirked, watching Chuck throw off his drenched-with-the-tang-of-hard-sex Nerd Herd shirt and quickly shrug a clean top over his head. 

“Mind taking the green shirt with ya’ when you go down to the laundry? I think some cologne got on that one too.” After a short snicker – where Chuck made a face at him while wrestling with his pants – the agent became serious again. “I’ll meet you and Ellie in the courtyard in twenty minutes. That way, I can still talk to her and say good-bye…or, that I’ll be –”

“– back home for the wedding?” Chuck said, and nervously tugged the front of the shirt to straighten it. He looked away, but the kid had no doubt that Casey noticed his face had clouded up at the word ‘good-bye’.

“Chuck.” The agent didn’t wait for nerd to turn his head. Instead, Casey cupped his chin and gently forced those wide dark brown eyes to look at him. “I didn’t mean good-bye. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

-x-

“What do you mean, he’s leaving?” The plate she was rinsing clattered into the sink.

“El, you promised. Don’t freak out.”

“Don’t freak out? That’s before you told me one of my groomsmen – and your boyfriend! – may not be here for my wedding?”

“See? Now that sounds exactly like freaking out.”

“Chuck! We have final tuxedo fittings this week. There’s rehearsal dinner at Mario’s.” Ellie rounded the corner and stopped at the dining room table. It was littered with – oh hell – the makings of today’s pre-wedding project. “We have one hundred and fifty table favors to assemble tonight! These cherry blossom boxes with grosgrain ribbon aren’t going to put themselves together. I need an assembly line!” Her hand flew up to her forehead. “Chuck, I need my A-Team.”

“Babe. It will be okay, really. The Chuckster and I –”

“Oh my God.” Ellie crossed the room and surprised the kid by flinging her arms around him in a lung-puncturing hug. “Honey, I’m so sorry…”

Chuck brought up his arms gawkily and patted her back. At the same time, he shot Devon a baffled look over her shoulder.

Devon shrugged. ‘Beats me.’

“Sis, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t you get it, Chuck? I was being so selfish, only thinking about the wedding. But, you’re my baby brother and I should have been thinking of you – what you’re going through.”

“Uh, going through? Ellie, whatever you’re thinking, that’s really not –”

“I mean, we should have seen it, right? The detached disposition … the stoic nature.” She gripped Chuck’s shoulders and shook him gently. “John has commitment issues, doesn’t he, honey? You must be so upset that he won’t jump in with both feet.”

“Wha-?!” Chuck gaped at her until he found his voice. “No! God, no, El! That’s not it,” he stammered. “It’s just his required military training. Really! When he gets the orders, he doesn’t have a choice, sis. But he … promised me he’d be back by wedding.” Chuck swallowed hard and shoved his hands in his pockets to pull out his keys. He was desperate to end the conversation. “He said he would… uh, talk to his commanding officer, or fake an injury, or maybe… something else.”

Ellie laid her palm on him and rubbed his arm. “That’s okay, sweetie. I’m a girl – I understand how relationships work. When he gets back, after the wedding, we’ll all work through his problem together. That’s what big sisters are for, little brother.”

The kid groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh, God.”

-x-

“John, just … be safe.” 

“I’ll do my best, Ellie,” he said quietly, shouldering his duffle.

“– and when you get back, we’ll be here for you.” Ellie glanced from her brother to Casey. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed the larger man’s smooth cheek. “I’m going to get both of you through this.”

The twitch in Casey’s jaw was the only outward sign that he had no fucking clue what she was referring to. He darted a look over her shoulder. 

“You don’t wanna know,” Chuck mouthed. “This would be a situation for a ‘boyfriend’s big sister hug’ though.” He signaled with his arms on the off chance Casey wasn’t a lip reader, bringing them out in front of him and making a circle. “Do it.”

Casey froze. Chuck knew the prospect of a sisterly hug rattled him, but he signaled vehemently behind Ellie’s back. After a long hesitation, the agent finally brought up his arms and wrapped them around her shoulders in a clumsy hug. 

Ellie beamed at him. “I’ll let you two finish your good-byes.”

“Thanks, El.” They watched her as she walked around the fountain and entered the apartment, giving a small wave before closing the door.

“’Through this’? Care to explain, Bartowski? What the fuck is ‘this’?”

“Are you armed?”

“Hell, yeah, I’m armed. You know that. But what does that have to –”

“Because if I told you what Ellie had in store for us when you get back, you would want to shoot… well, something. And since the NSA transport just pulled up,” Chuck nodded past Casey to a black SUV idling on the street, “it’ll have to wait.”

Heaving a breath, Casey gave him one last piercing look and started to turn towards the stone archway leading out to the street. Chuck grabbed his arm.

“Hang on, Casey. Aren’t you forgetting something?” Confused, wide eyes drifted over the agent’s face. “Aren’t you going to…?”

“Kid,” Casey rumbled softly. “They saw Ellie go into the apartment. No reason to maintain the ‘cover’ if your family isn’t watching us.” 

“But…” Chuck stared at him before slanting a look over his shoulder towards his sister’s window. Then, he took the two steps needed to close the space between them, and locked his lips over Casey’s in a fiery hot kiss that was over too quickly. “You’ll have to tell them I noticed Ellie was watching us through the blinds.”

Just for a flash, a smile quirked on Casey’s mouth, but it faded when he saw the clouded expression that had dulled Chuck’s face. “See ya’ later, kid.” Casey nodded once, and pivoting on his heel, crossed under the archway.

Chuck didn’t move. His eyes were trained on that broad back, wide shoulders… waiting to see if his boyfriend would turn again. Logic told the kid that Casey would not look back – hell, how could he with the agents watching? But reason did nothing to ease the bitter pill, swallowing down the tightness in his throat.

Casey never looked back.

-x-

Chuck had lost track of time over the past hour, watching the edges of the horizon in the west, gradually evolving from orange and hot pink brushstrokes to muted blues and purples as the sun fell behind the clouds. 

He plucked at the wrapper on the beer bottle he was holding, mostly empty by now, slowly peeling away the layer of paper without paying any attention to what he was doing. With the sun sinking behind the trees, the night air had chilled, and it occurred to him he should get out of the folding chair and grab a jacket. But with his feet propped up on the concrete rim of the fountain, and his head lolled back, the kid gazed blankly at the sky and sunk further into the chair. 

“Shit,” he muttered to no one. Why did the government feel compelled to ruin every aspect of his life? From his relationship with his… well, there wasn’t a simplified label that would accurately describe what Casey was, to his sister, to his best friend – the government had screwed up every last one. 

Blowing a sigh, the kid focused on the beacon from a jet crossing overhead, until the shimmer caught his eye. Three stars in perfect alignment. The Hunter’s belt. 

“Orion,” Chuck whispered. He turned his head towards the window that led into his old bedroom, wondering if Ellie would notice if he snuck in early tonight to work on his old computer.

A black ooze of guilt gnawed at his lower belly. Casey would kill him if he knew. Alright, maybe not kill, but no matter how …intimate their relationship had become, Casey would string him up in the dojo and use the bo on his bare back if he knew about the contact with Orion. 

That’s why he was never going to find out. 

God.

At least sneaking around would be easier for the next few days without the agent there. Now, Chuck thought, he could access the designated site, through its tangle of data strings and ciphertext, video conference with Orion, and learn the results of the latest round of Intersect testing. The scientist had promised they were getting closer to finding a solution – a way to get this thing out of his head.

Chuck stared at the burbling fountain and took his last drink from the beer. “Sorry, Casey,” he murmured. “But I have to do this without you knowing.”

Climbing out of the chair, he set his beer bottle in Ellie’s recycling bin and began fishing through his pocket for his keys. 

And, in a flash, a man dressed in mission black was standing in the shadows at his doorway.

With a pissed off look and a gun jammed into a holster at his waistband.

“Shi –!” Chuck’s hands flew up and the keys went flying into a bush of flowering bougainvillea. “Who the hell –”

With a powerful thrust, Chuck felt his spine being shoved against the door, the knob digging into his lower back. “Please, take my wallet – really. I mean, I don’t have much, just a five on me right now, but my ATM card is in there, and a prepaid Visa – I should tell you there isn’t any money in that account if you try to use it, or the Blockbuster card, because that has some late fees on it that you probably don’t wanna –” 

“Wallet? The hell?” 

“No take it! Just leave, okay?” Fumbling through his pants pocket, the kid latched onto his billfold, and tried to open it with clumsy fingers, but it dropped to the cobblestones. The five and some change fell out as the wallet hit the ground, and the coins rolled into the shadows. “Sorry. No loss though. Really! It was barely enough for cab fare.”

“For chrissakes, get your ass inside.” 

Before Chuck could open his mouth, the stranger reached around the nerd and grabbed the knob. Abruptly, the door popped open behind him and Chuck felt himself pulled off the door and propelled into their living room. He nearly stumbled against the side table before tripping over a duffle bag next to the sofa. The strange man closed the door and flicked on a light, illuminating the room, and the kid could finally get a good look at his assailant.

The flash walloped him between the eyes, the crush of pain seared his head, his eyes fluttered, and his brain did its now disconcerting yet familiar dog and pony show.

A black lab sitting on a tile floor wearing a child’s party hat

A Russian freighter in the North Sea

Commendation ribbons, mission reports, a silver briefcase

A black lab sitting on a tile floor wearing a child’s party hat

“Guh!” Chuck blinked and spun around to face the kitchen, and then silently cursed himself that it was probably too late. Unless the man was blind, he most likely noticed the subtle yet quirky movement of his eyelids. Turning back to gape at the new arrival, they stared at each other wordlessly, the man inspecting him from black chucks to wavy hair. The stranger’s lip curled up in a sneer. 

“Oh,” Chuck finally managed to say. 

“Nerd,” the man huffed, his hands on his hips. “You had one fucking beer. Get a hold of yourself.”

“But – I – Who the hell are you?!” It seemed like the right question to ask at a time like this, though the Intersect had just forced fed him every scrap of data available on the man. 

The large man folded his arms over his chest, and slowly sauntered over to stand in front of the kid. He eyeballed him like a piece of gum he had just discovered stuck to the bottom of his spit-polished combat boots.

“Lieutenant Brandon McClure, National Security Agency – Special Operations and Junior Adviser to the Director of Intelligence.” 

Chuck stared at him and an actual snort escaped before he could bring his hand up, pretending to clear his throat. “Wow… McClure, that’s a mouthful of titles you’ve got there.”

McClure narrowed his eyes. “Not for you, asset,” he growled. “You can just call me ‘sir’.”

-x-End Chapter One-x-


	2. Chapter Two

Casey vs. Human Elements 

Chapter Two

-x-

Casey took a long sip from the Styrofoam coffee cup and set it on the edge of his folding tray. The dark roast Sumatra did nothing to alleviate his exhaustion from the churning events in the past twelve hours. Or his gut feeling of unease. 

This shit just never goes down according to mission specs, he told himself. Either the mark is tipped off, or the blurry-eyed hotel desk clerk at the ‘cover’ piss hole you’ll be staying at is, in actuality, an agent planted there for the other team. 

It usually translated into going off-mission, getting to blow some shit up, eradicating some human scum – traitors, Fulcrum, radical subversives, just fill in the blank with this week’s ass wipes – and getting the hell out of there on the first flight.

Then, sit back, spark up a Cubano, take a few good earthy drags, and watch the shit hit the fan as the rest of them act out their parts like a well-rehearsed play.

The bureaucrats of the US Government will sure as fuck claim no responsibility, and issue the official statement of plausible deniability of the situation. 

But behind closed doors, the top brass will congratulate themselves for a job well done, sitting behind their slickly polished mahogany desks. Plush swivel chairs wide enough to accommodate their asses. 

And John Casey will slide back into the country covertly, earn a face crack of a smile from the general, and move on to the next assignment.

Another piece of human excrement they don’t need to lose any sleep over.

Usually, the thought of this scenario alone was enough to give him pre-mission wood. 

But this time, he wanted to blame the government-issued coffee for the taste of bitterness in his mouth. 

That wasn’t it. 

He frowned at the reflection in the plane’s portal window. One hundred and twenty hours from now, Casey had expected to be leaning uncomfortably against the bar at the Bay Pointe Inn – and Ellie would’ve made certain the scotch was premium – loosening his taut black tie, getting pulled into small talk with Chuck whispering in his ear to play nice and be social.

“Major Casey, is your phone ringing?”

Casey slanted an irritated look at the young agent before reaching into his jacket. He stopped. It was the burner, and he sure as hell couldn’t pull it out there. Chuck would have to wait. 

Leaning back in the seat, he closed his eyes and rubbed his fingertips against his eyelids.

Shit. Beckman.

“Here is the Intel on the mark.” 

Casey watched the monitors as an image of a man was enlarged on the display, and he was struck by the eerily familiar face. But something was off about the look. Different. “Is that –”

“No, though I must agree with your initial assessment, major.” She glanced down at the picture, obviously taken from a surveillance cam at an airport. “The resemblance to Agent Larkin is quite extraordinary. But, assuredly, the man you are looking at is Amado Chavez.”

“Where is he now?”

“Costa Rica. My analysts have placed him in Cartago. Sources say he’s bragged about being in possession of a key that belongs to the DNI. He’s working his connections for a buyer.”

“So, we find Chavez, reacquire the Core, dispense with the mark using the usual methods, and get out.” Casey folded his arms over his chest and shifted his gaze to the general. “When do I leave?”

“One moment, major.” Beckman leaned back in her chair and swept her eyes over him. “We’re altering the normal protocols for this mission.”

The agent could feel his jaw tighten at the way she had enunciated ‘altering’. “Ma’am?”

“Major, we need Chavez alive. We need to know who he has been speaking to, and the identification of his potential buyers. You see,” and she proceeded painstakingly, “our profilers have determined that Chavez is a man who could be exploited by using your… newly acquired special skill – indeed, that was the special skill I was referring to.”

“General, I thought –”

“You’ve proven you can expertly play the role of a seducer of the same sex, major. Your cover with the asset is proof of that. The Intersect follows your orders, toes the line.” The corner of her mouth quirked up slyly. “In fact, he seems quite smitten with you.”

Casey felt his hands reflexively clench into fists, his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. “Our cover is ironclad.”

“Yes,” she confirmed, one brow rising on her forehead. “That is why you have been specifically chosen for this operation. I need you to … work through Chavez’s defenses, find out where he’s keeping the Core, acquire it, and bring him in. Since there have been no sightings of the device through our surveillance of the mark, we believe he keeps it on his… person.” 

Casey stood frozen in place, ramrod straight at the table. He looked intently at the image without speaking, until he realized Beckman was still waiting for acknowledgement of her order.

“Understood, ma’am,” he said.

“Get the Intel, Major Casey. Through any means necessary.”

-x-

“You didn’t pick up when I called.”

“It wasn’t secure,” Casey told him. “So?”

“So? Are you kidding me with this?” Chuck darted a look down the hallway as he closed Casey’s bedroom door. “He’s an asshole, Casey. He treats me like I’m an idiot.” 

“Cool your jets, twerp. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Oh, really? He has less personality than a cinder block. He only speaks in the language of grunts and agency protocols. He’s … physical – pushy, like the eighth grade bully who hit his growth spurt before the rest of us! And he brought enough guns and firepower to take out the western seaboard!” 

There was a long pause on the end of the line. “Did you start this conversation by calling him an asshole, Bartowski?”

“Oh.”

“Because, so far, I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Casey, it’s not like that. It’s … different…”

“Listening.”

He sounded pissed. Chuck talked fast. “Okay, I can see where you would think… but it’s not like, well, when you… Okay, here’s another example: he told me I had to call him ‘sir’.”

Casey snorted. “Did you salute him?”

“I fail to see the humor in this.”

“Alright, shit. This one’s too easy. He’s just trying to establish the pecking order – let you know who’s boss while he’s in town.”

“Okay, good, good. So, what do I do?”

“You have to kick his ass.”

“What! Have you seen this guy? Casey, I hate to tell you this, but he’s bigger than you.”

“Eh?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Chuck was smug at the prospect that he had finally gotten Casey’s attention. He knew Casey hated to be out ‘big-bastarded’ by anyone, especially this snot-nosed turd fresh from Fort Meade. “I hate to tell you this, Casey, but Beckman replaced you with …you. Okay, a more evil, constipated version of you.”

“Heh. We’ll see.” 

Chuck sprawled out on the bed. “Casey… earlier, I didn’t mean… at least you eventually showed me how to shoot a tranq dart, or taught me how to not get tossed from a building or blown up on a mission. Or... other things. The blush started at his neck and flamed his face. Luckily, Casey wasn’t there to tease him about it. “I wasn’t –” 

“Do you really think you need to explain this shit to me?”

“Sorry, my bad… anyway, does he have to actually stay here at the apartment with me? In ‘my’ bedroom? Do you have any idea how difficult it will be to make sure Ellie doesn’t see him coming or going? She’s a bloodhound! And knowing that you’re out of town, if she saw a strange man leaving the apartment, she would think…well, I don’t know what she would think.”

“She would think her baby brother is a dirty little slut who sleeps around with the first guy he finds the moment his boyfriend turns his back.”

Chuck closed his eyes and threw the pillow over his head. “Nice, Casey. Nice.”

-x-

“Jeffrey! He’s the quality auditor, not a captain. You don’t have to salute him.”

McClure raised a hand towards the smaller man. “That’s quite alright.” Shifting his eyes to take in the blank stare of the frizzy-haired Nerd Herder, he nodded once. “Stand down, soldier. And tuck in your damn shirt.” He gave Lester the once over. “And, you. Get a haircut.”

“Yes, sir,” Jeff answered for him. He pulled a pair of scissors from the top drawer of the Nerd Herd station. “I always wanted one of those locks,” he said, slowly rounding on Lester.

“Good God…” The agent stared down at them in disgust and wrestled the scissors from him. “Put those away and get out your off-site install records now. I want to see each form dated, customer sign-off, an itemized list of services… and why the hell are you looking me in the eyes? Move!”

Jeff scrambled to pull out a stuffed binder that was resting on the lower shelf behind the counter. Saluting, he passed it to McClure. The agent rolled his eyes at him and opened it, beginning to flip through the pages.

“Bartowski… his records are incomplete. Signatures are missing, dates…”

“Well, that’s what happens,” Jeff said.

McClure looked up from the book. “What do you mean?”

“Chuck’s install records used to be immaculate.”

“Pristine in their completeness,” Lester added helpfully. “Framed in a display of perfection, hung under the image of our founder, Moses Finkelstein.”

“But not anymore.”

“Explain.” McClure folded his arms over his chest and loomed over the two men.

Jeff and Lester glanced at each other before looking over their shoulders to see if Chuck was nearby. They lowered their voices.

“Three months ago,” Jeff said.

“What?” McClure frowned.

“He found love… in a super-sized meal, I might add.” Lester raised a brow and went on. “Yeah, the old Chuckster found a way to break through the glacier… now, he’s spending his time in the storage cage –”

“The home theatre –”

“The supply closet –” 

“The break room after close –”

“Whoa,” McClure cut in with a sneer. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Dude,” Jeff said, “he’s happy. He can’t be bothered with forms and instructions. A tall, broad, mountain of love will do that to a person, I guess.”

Secretly, the agent did have to marvel at the major’s airtight cover with the asset. Quite remarkable.

“Enough. File these damn forms, soldier. I’m going to have to write-up non-compliances.”

Lester bristled and slanted a sideways glance to Jeff. “Why does Chuck get to be happy and we have to clean up his mess?” he muttered. “What does he have that we –”

Jeff turned to McClure. “Are you married?”

“…the hell?”

The Nerd Herder replied by slowly closing one eye, opening it, followed by the other. It conveyed creepy in a way McClure hadn’t experienced in his career since the mission in – well, fuck it, never.

“Are you suggesting that I –”

“Super-size me?”

“Eh,” McClure paled as he tossed the binder back on the shelf. With a sharp pivot of his heel, he hightailed it to the break room without looking back.

“Would you like to see the inside of my Van Epoch at break time?” Jeff called out to his retreating back. “I just re-carpeted the ceiling!” 

-x-

“So, you probably miss him, huh?”

“Yeah – uh, no! I mean, who are you talking about?”

The Human Intersect and his new handler had just polished off a couple of frozen meat loaf dinners after a brutish day at the Buy More. McClure had been suspiciously quiet since they arrived at the apartment, and even helped himself to a tall shot of Casey’s scotch. 

But suddenly, he was chatty. Friendly even, which made Chuck’s skin crawl. The agent got up from his seat at the desk and strode over to the leather couch. Crossing in front of Chuck, he blocked the television, forcing the kid to look him in the eyes. 

“I’m talking about Major Casey, of course.”

“Wha –!” The beer Chuck had lifted to his lips sloshed out of the bottle and onto the coffee table before he could steady it. “Crap!” He started to get up to find a dish towel, but McClure grabbed one off the counter and tossed it to him. “What are you talking about?” Chuck asked.

“It must be hard, is all,” the agent replied. “After being together for almost two years, and now with the cover. I’m just saying that it’s gotta be difficult, right? I mean, I’ve seen it.” McClure settled on the arm rest of the couch, training a hard stare at the kid. “Even a seasoned agent, like the major, after so long, so deep in the cover… well, the lines – the boundaries – they begin to get blurry. Fuzzy.”

Chuck finished wiping up the spill and threw the towel on the coffee table. He glowered at the NSA agent. “We work together. We’re a team – and if you’ve seen our mission files, which I’m sure you have, you know that we are a very successful team. But, that’s all.” 

McClure glanced down at the beer bottle Chuck was holding. “Let me get you another.”

“No. That’s okay.” Climbing up from the sofa, Chuck headed for the stairs without looking back. “Going to hit the sack. I’m beat. Oh, and you can flick off … your monitors for the night, McClure.” 

-x-

“He’s asking about us,” Chuck hissed, pushing the bedroom door closed. He perched on the edge of bed and began kicking his shoes off.

“Yeah, figures. Of course he is,” Casey replied. “What did you tell him?”

There was a long, drawn out pause on the other end of the line. “Oh, I don’t know, Casey. I told him we started sharing the same bed three months ago, and we make out more than wild jack rabbits in the springtime. Geez! Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Okay. Shit. Just dial it down, sport, I shouldn’t have –”

“I know, I know. It’s just a little tense here. The wedding. The asshole digging around, breathing down my neck.” Another silent moment passed while Chuck fiddled with a loose string on the comforter. “And, in case you didn’t hear, my boyfriend, who also happens to be one of my sister’s groomsmen, is AWOL.”

“I get it, okay?”

Casey switched gears, steering the conversation away from McClure’s questions for a minute. No sense getting the kid worked up about the 49b. Chuck sure as hell didn’t need to know about that.

“Have you flashed on anything? And, if you did, tell me you didn’t flash in front of him. He can’t know. You’ll blow the op, Bartowski.”

“No, no flashes. Well, just one, but that was on him – oh wait, I mean, ‘sir’.” Chuck mock saluted as he glanced at the door. “But it’s not like I can control it. It’s a flash, Casey. Not a sneeze. It’s not like I can just stuff into a Kleenex, you know.” 

“Well, if that doesn’t work, and you feel one coming, just excuse yourself to hit the head.”

The kid held the phone away from his ear to glare at it for a few seconds. “Did you hear anything I just said? Wait, are you laughing?” 

The muffled snicker died down.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Chuck said. “It’s not a controllable body function, for God sakes.”

“Heh. Just don’t let it happen.” Casey was serious again. “McClure’s gonna keep asking questions. Sniffing around.”

“Why?”

“I need you to deflect everything he throws at you, got it? I’ll handle the rest when I get back.”

“And you will explain it to me, okay? But until then – deflect. Yes, got it,” Chuck said, and a small grin grew on his face. “I was trained by the best, you know.” 

“Well, you’re a quick study, I’ll give ya’ that much,” Casey said, his voice husky. “Don’t worry. There’ll be more training exercises when I get back.”

“I miss your subtlety,” the kid chuckled. Then, he heaved a breath and flopped his back down on the bed, fluffing the pillow under his neck. “I miss you.”

Casey grunted. “Ditto,” he said quietly.

-x-

“Major Casey.” 

Casey’s satellite comm link crackled to life. Setting his coffee in the cup holder, he picked up the two-way that had been tossed in the passenger seat of the Jeep. 

“What’s your status, agent.”

“Sir, I’m aware of the orders to make contact only in the event of a Code Black, but there is a situation. I’m posted at the northwest corner of the Buy More parking lot. The asset has been approached by a hostile brunette. I’m moving into position to take her out.”

“Take her –? Wait, for chrissakes. Activate the asset’s comm link on his watch. Do it. Now.”

There was a tense pause before the sound of broken-up chatter hit the airwaves. 

“… the wedding caterer suggested we replace the seared sustainable ahi tuna and ginger canapés with vegan nori mini wraps. I need an unbiased taster at the caterer’s kitchen – pronto.” 

“But I was going to meet Morgan to –! ” 

“Move it, buster. And, where’s your bearded friend, anyway? Three tasters would be better for comparative analysis of the mirin versus the wasabi sauce.” 

“…Sis, I would take a lot of bullets for you, but vegan seaweed? Really?”

Casey had heard enough. He hit the switch to re-activate communication with the agent witnessing the events in the parking lot.

“Let it go, Agent McClure. That is an order.” 

“Are you suggesting that the asset –”

“– I’m suggesting that unless you want to die with an engraved Vera Wang cake knife diced through your heart and boutonniere pins tagged into your ass, you will disengage, Agent McClure.”

“Major Casey, confirm. Is the subject a non-threat?”

“Heh,” Casey grunted. “Don’t kid yourself. The subject is Eleanor Faye Bartowski. The kid’s sister is a bride-to-be who would feed you your own liver on a spoon with a nice Chianti if you got in her way right now – or crossed the path of her little brother.” Casey flicked off the switch, chuckling to himself before opening the comm again. “Disengage, McClure. Follow the Toyota, but keep your distance. Again, that’s an order. Casey out.”

Tossing the two-way on the seat, Casey gripped the steering wheel, tapping it with his fingers, before bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The agent closed his eyes.

Fuck. 

Three days until the wedding. He should be there in Burbank right now. Getting shanghaied by Ellie to taste sustainable vegan weeds or whatever that god awful stuff was. Not here. 

A well-placed slap on his neck nailed the mosquito that had been buzzing around his ear. Little bastard. Sure, he had completed missions in worse conditions than this – hell, much worse. But this was different. 

Casey slanted a sideways look at the open folder on the passenger seat, studying the glossy picture of the man. The mark. Mid-thirties. Smooth, straight dark hair, olive-colored skin, blue eyes. Except for the skin tone, Larkin’s goddamn doppelganger. Just perfect, he scoffed under his breath.

He should be there with the kid. 

In the service of his country, Casey had been tortured at the hands of Afghani warlords, and spent eighteen months in Waziristan under deep cover. But none of those compared to this ordeal. Staring over the hood of the Jeep, he listened to the tinny waves of Peter Cetera belting out ‘The Glory of Love,’ the music wafting on the air like a bad smell from the Dos Segundos Cantina across the road. That, and the odor of cabbage from the local casado, made his stomach roil. 

Who was he kidding? That wasn’t the source of his unease.

A fucking seduction.

“God, I’m getting too… experienced for this kind of shit.”

-x-

“Ellie, do you have anything for indigestion?” Chuck leaned a shoulder against the doorframe; one hand was on his stomach, and in the other he held a half empty Red Bull.

“Of course I do, but that,” and she pointed at the drink, “is probably not helping, and – wait a minute. Are you okay? Don’t tell me the canapés–”

“No! No, its fine, I swear.” Chuck’s palm flew up defensively. “The food was great. It’s just the amount, sis. Did we really have to sample nineteen different types of seaweed and sauce combinations?”

“Your bearded friend didn’t seem to mind.”

“Pills? Tablets? Show me some mercy here, El.”

She smirked and playfully punched his arm. “I’ll go get them.”

When Ellie handed him the tablets, Chuck thanked her with one last grimace and shuffled into his old room. Checking over his shoulder, he closed the door with only a faint clack. 

McClure had watched him wordlessly, giving him the evil eye, as he left the apartment and ambled across the courtyard to his sister’s. Asshole. Chuck could picture him already sitting up straight, rigid behind his monitors, inspecting his every move through the cam. 

“And that’s why I have this little beauty,” he smiled to himself – and hit the trigger on the jammer.

Sliding into his desk chair, he was furiously typing in an instant. He had memorized the convoluted data string Orion had provided – he didn’t need the help of the damn Intersect for that – and without a second’s pause, he was in. The kid activated the webcam.

Binary numerals dissected the screen until the pattern coalesced to form the image of a man’s face.

“Orion,” Chuck said quietly.

“Charles. You’re late.”

Chuck’s eyes jumped between the grainy image to the window over his shoulder and back again. 

“I only have three minutes,” Chuck told him. “The jammer will scramble the security feed until then,” and he nodded at the surveillance camera by his closet. “But we can count on our local friendly NSA to burst in here looking for me in about, oh, let’s see: two and a half minutes from now.”

“Are you in danger?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just… we don’t have time for this.” Chuck’s voice had changed, becoming tighter, more urgent. “I just need to know the outcome of the latest round of Intersect testing.”

“I was able to eliminate one more possibility.”

The kid stared at the screen and slumped down in his chair, heaving out a breath. His dejection turned to impatience as he gave a quick glance at his watch.

“I wish you would just come out and say it. We both know what it means. ‘Eliminated a possibility’ is just scientist-speak to cover the truth. What really happened.” The kid held eye contact with the face on the monitor for a full five seconds before he spoke. “The test failed.”

“Son, it’s okay. The next –”

“No. Why do you say that? It’s not okay. My life is not okay. It’s a freaking mess! The government is ruining everything.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” The tone was even, but it carried a heavy note, and Chuck got the message. ‘Close your mouth and listen.’

Crossing his arms over his chest, the kid managed to bite down his frustration. “What’s next?” he asked.

“We keep going. Each roadblock – failure as you refer to it – narrows down the number of viable test cases. I don’t need to tell you the complexity of the Intersect. But, we will find the solution.” Though the image was scattered and indistinct, Chuck could see the man’s features soften. “Son, we will get this out of your head.”

“I need to know – when?” The minutes were ticking by precariously and the dickhead would be making his appearance, guns blazing no doubt, when he finally connected the dots and determined the source of the video disruption. Chuck glanced up at the disabled security cam. “I need my life back.”

The kid could feel the heat of his father’s eyes scrutinizing his face. “You… met someone,” Orion said warily.

Chuck hesitated. “Yes.”

He could see a smile drift over his father’s face. “It’s just a matter of time. I promise.”

“We’re out of time, dad,” Chuck cut him off, scrubbing his hands though this hair. “Crap, what I mean is… today we’re out of time. Can you please just…” His voice pitched higher at the end and he knew his father heard it, so he swallowed hard and took a sip from the Red Bull. “We have to do this. Just keep trying, okay?” 

They lapsed into an awkward silence – a pair of Bartowski men, tongue-tied. Chuck would have laughed if the situation didn’t seem so damn futile and pathetic.

With frustration thrumming through him, he’d been rubbing his neck, but his hand slid off and the kid tapped his fingers on the desk, looking away from screen. He had to have faith in Orion. His dad. 

“Alright,” he finally said. “The next round of Intersect testing. When can we talk – oh no.” The hasty clatter of footsteps in the courtyard made him stiffen in his desk chair, and the kid darted a look over his shoulder. “Not yet, not now….” 

“What is it?”

“Shit! Oh, sorry dad,” he added sheepishly. “No time to explain. I have to go.” He hit the switch on the webcam and powered down the desktop before Orion could reply.

One last thought flitted through his mind before the inevitable siege that would end with Chuck being dragged bodily through the window and back to the apartment.

Casey. 

The bubble of remorse burned in his gut. Okay, there was an off chance it was the multitude of nori wraps layered in wasabi that were swimming around down there, but in all honesty, he recognized what was causing his feeling of guilt.

Even after three months, immersed in an intoxicating relationship with the one man in the agency no one would ever fuck with, Chuck had to face one ugly uncertainty: could he trust Casey to let him do this? Or would the agent block him from removing the precious Intersect from Uncle Sam’s scary tool box of lethal toys? 

The kid sighed. That’s why Casey could never find out about the meetings with Ori –

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Gah!” Chuck leaped backwards. “Do you have to do that?” Yes, he had heard the sound of combat boots zeroing in on his position, and he knew the NSA hound dog would stick his face through the open window, but the pissed off expression still made him jump out of his skin. “This is Burbank, McClure – not Kandahar.”

“Security breech, video cam two. Get your ass back to the apartment.” 

“Keep it down, will ya’?” Chuck hissed. “My sister’s right there.”

“Tough shit. March.”

Chuck had to bite down on his lip hard to keep the ‘fuck you’ from slipping out. However, it did nothing to stop the middle finger from poking up when McClure turned his back. 

-x-

“Hey, Ellie. Wh–what are you doing here?” Peeking over his shoulder into Casey’s living room, Chuck scurried outside in a painfully obvious attempt to barricade her at the threshold. He pulled the door closed behind him.

“Uh, Chuck?” His sister’s smile faded, replaced by a puzzled look. “Why are we outside? Honey, is something wrong?”

“No. God, no, El. It’s just… uh, without Casey here, well, the place is a little messy, and I don’t want –”

“Chuck, I lived with you for almost three decades. I’ve seen your messes.”

“What do you have there?” With a crooked, nervous grin, Chuck changed the subject by drawing his attention to the plastic container she held. “Is that –”

“My garlic roasted chicken with rice vegetable medley.” She beamed at her baby brother and waved it under his nose. “I know John is the one who keeps you well fed, Chuck… oh, uh – and I don’t need the man who is going to walk me down the aisle in a few days getting food poisoning from Taco Bell. So,” she presented the Tupperware with a flourish, “I brought you these.”

“Wow, sis, that’s very...” He reached to take them from her, but glanced down when he felt his fingers brush against a glossy piece of paper that had been tucked alongside his care package. Chuck’s brows furrowed as he held it up. “What’s this?”

“Well…” She smiled uncomfortably before bracing herself to charge ahead. “Remember when we discussed John’s issue earlier?

“Oh, God, El.” The kid fumbled with the containers, nearly spilling it all to the ground. “Please tell me you didn’t…”

“Hear me out.” She grabbed the glossy pamphlet from his hands and held it in front of his face. Chuck squinted at the words emblazoned on the front of it. 

“Does that say ‘Couples Group Therapy’?!” Chuck’s wide eyes shifted from her face to the pamphlet as he scanned it. “’The group is a resilient holding environment that provides an avenue to express … through clinical vignettes and open-ended…’ Oh holy hell. Ellie! We don’t –”

“One of the nurses in the ER has a sister who leads a group on Tuesday nights down at the community center. I mean, picture it: a small group sitting in circle, sharing –”

“Oh my god oh my god…”

“But this could be exactly what will bring John out of his shell. He may open up, bloom like a spring bud that’s been frozen in the snow!”

Chuck blinked at her until a coughing fit squeezed his lungs shut. 

“Are you okay, little brother?”

Clearing his throat, he took the pamphlet from her and folded it up. “Ellie,” he said cautiously, “have you met my boyfriend? You know, John Casey? So tall? So wide?” Chuck used his palm to hold it up over his head, then held out two hands far apart as he spoke. “Does that ring any bells? A man who speaks in grunts and guttural noises decipherable only by large dogs …and me? Are you serious? Can you picture for one freaking moment Casey sitting in an uncomfortable folding chair in a circle of strangers, talking about his – he doesn’t even talk to me about his feelings!”

“Aha!”

“Oh, crap.”

Ellie winked, snapping the pamphlet out of his hand. “I’ll have her hold two seats for you in the next session.” With one last smile, she spun on her heel and crossed the courtyard, tucking the glossy flyer into a pocket of her scrubs. 

“Oh, no, no, no…” Slumping against the door, Chuck put his hand on his forehead and rubbed his eyes. “He’s going to kill – ah!”

The kid fell backwards into the living room when the door suddenly popped open. A last second grab at the doorframe was the only thing that stopped him from falling on his ass. Chuck swiveled around to face the lieutenant, and crossed his arms over his chest, giving the larger man the stink eye. 

“Was that really necessary?” Chuck scowled.

Agent McClure had a wide grin on his smarmy face. “God, the major is right.” The ass took a long draw off of his cigar, and let it out slow. “He should get fucking combat pay for this assignment.”

-x-

The parking spot Casey had chosen gave him a perfect line of sight into the seedy motel’s lobby and the alley that ran between it and a liquor store. The grimy shop appeared to ring up quite a side business in pre-paid cell phones, tattoos, and hookers by the looks of it. Though, not in that particular order, the agent noted.

He was only listening to the engine idle and the distant conversations on the street. Casey gave up scouring the am radio in the Jeep after dialing in to some new age crap that ate away at his eardrums. Flicking the music off, he stretched his long legs – God, this cramped four wheeled piece of excrement wasn’t made for someone like him – and waited. 

And, only a little more than two hours had passed when he caught sight of the mark coming around the corner, walking past the liquor store, and disappearing through the doors that led to the motel lobby.

There’s his guy. Nice shoes, he thought, listening to the broken noise of the clicking on the sidewalk. Clearly, Chavez had enjoyed a few shots of guaro at his stop at Dos Segundos before turning in for the night. It gave Casey some solace at least that the agency drones had been dead on with their Intel, sourced from a leak that Amado would be staying there. 

His eyes scanned the narrow street one last time, nixing the notion he had drawn any unwanted attention during the stakeout this evening. Closing the folder on the passenger seat, Casey checked the side mirror, threw it in gear, and drove away. Tonight, the Intel had been confirmed reliable, the agent had cased both joints – and tomorrow, the fireworks.

It cranked the agent that he had explicit orders not to just step out of the vehicle, plug the little bastard, ransack his room for the Intel, and get the fuck out of there before the slow witted locals pulled up.

Instead, Casey could only inwardly groan at what would go down in the next forty-eighty hours.

Seducing a mark. It had elements of art, paired with strict elements of science, and for the consummate professionals, it came down to this: you never let it get that far. The best seductions are the scent, the inference of enticement, the promise of physical pleasure – and then you strike.

Still, he felt like warmed over shit at the prospect of hitting on this guy. A knot of guilt tied up his gut like a coil.

“Chuck never needs to find out about this,” Casey whispered to himself.

 

-x-End Chapter Two-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I just wanted to say thanks to those of you who read, commented, and 'kudo'ed'. I really appreciate it! 
> 
> I do love to hear from readers - in any way - but I guess that makes me no different than other writers.
> 
> Many thanks  
> -skye


	3. Chapter Three

Casey vs. Human Elements

Chapter Three

-x-

“I’m pleased to see the two of you have settled into your new arrangement.” The hard-boiled general appraised both men from the video feed link in Casey’s apartment. “Let’s begin, shall we,” she stated.

Chuck frowned at the monitor and raised his hand to stop her. “Temporary arrangement, I might add, general.”

“Mister Bartowski, in the future, there is no need to raise your hand to speak. Because,” she pointed out sharply when he opened his mouth again, “there is no reason to speak. Especially when I’m addressing the team.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Chuck could see McClure smirking at him. The kid bit down on his lip to stop himself from making a face.

“May I continue now?” the general said, with the inflection of a demand rather than a question.

“Yes, ma’am,” the agent replied.

“Report out on your team, lieutenant.”

With a tight salute – which the general ignored – McClure reached for a folder on the desk, and tugged out a small stack of documents. “The asset arrived at his place of employment at exactly 9:12 a.m. this morning –”

“What the…” Chuck turned with wide eyes towards the agent. “Do we have to retell the monotony of – are you serious?”

“And punched the clock fourteen minutes late for his shift –”

“Traffic was terrible on the I-5!”

“After two hours and twenty minutes of answering calls and logging work orders, the asset engaged in a fifteen minute dialogue with his diminutive side-kick on the latest siege in Azerbaijan. But no fear, general, you didn’t miss this breaking news on CNN last night, because I understand it’s a video game, not an actual battlefield –”

“You were listening in on us? We were in the break room. The break room is sacred ground!”

“This was followed by an incident of using Buy More company resources, more specifically, the Nerd Herd work station, to check the status of their ebay bid on a,” and McClure glanced down to read from his document, chewing out each word like a stale taste in his mouth, “Millennium Falcon vintage action figure –”

“It’s not an action figure – it’s a vehicle,” Chuck muttered. “In the box, sealed from human contact. And, that auction was going to end in one hour.”

McClure snorted. “When the auction ended, the asset and his … partner clocked out for a break, and after walking the length of the plaza, they settled on Sbarro pizza. Pepperoni and Italian sausage, ma’am.”

Scowling, Chuck raised his hand again. “General, is this ultimate and degrading invasion of my privacy really necessary? Can your government resources find a better use of time than to skulk around the Large Mart Plaz –”

“I’ve heard enough!” the general barked. McClure dropped the paper and bolted to attention, minus the salute, as the whip-crack of Beckman’s voice lashed the airwaves. Even the kid found himself standing taller, his mouth snapping shut. Both men watched as she leaned forward in her chair to glower at them. “Maybe I was incorrect, lieutenant. Perhaps the two of you have not settled into your new arrangement after all.”

“General, if I may,” the agent started. “The asset has –”

“No, you may not.” She squelched him with a look intent to make her agent shudder. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, McClure, when I said that was enough.”

Chuck turned his head to snicker into his collar.

“Do you have something to share with us, Mister Bartowski?”

“Uh, no general, I was just… uh, had a little, phlegm there, ahem.” He brought up his fist to cough into his hand. “Please, carry on.”

“Thank you for your permission to do my job,” she said icily, turning her attention to the lieutenant. “Agent McClure, the lack of an additional objective for this ‘mission’, to supplement the twenty-four surveillance, was perhaps my mistake. You are one of my top field agents and I have essentially demoted you to a role of a high level… babysitter.”

This time, it was McClure snickering to himself out the side of his mouth. Chuck glared at him but kept his trap shut, feeling a little dagger of concern digging under his skin as he wondered where the general was going with this.

“Therefore,” Beckman went on, “I’m modifying the mission objectives.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Chuck could hear the unbridled eagerness in McClure’s voice, reminding him of a golden retriever poised to retrieve a Frisbee for its master. “Does the general have Intel on terrorists entering through the Port of Los Angeles or –”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your mission remains to protect the asset at all costs. Your mission is Chuck Bartowski. However, your new objective is to continue the training regime Major Casey has initiated with the asset –”

“Wait a minute… what does that mean?” Chuck asked.

The general flicked the kid a look of displeasure before continuing. “Chuck, Major Casey has indicated in his reports that he has taken it upon himself to train you in some basic maneuvers – hand to hand combat, weapons handling. Is this true?”

“Uh… hand to… and weapons?” Chuck’s eyes shifted from one face studying him intently to the other. “Of course it’s true.” His palm drifted down his tie to straighten it before stuffing both hands in his pockets. “Casey has been taking me to the range for target practice, and taught me some self-defense.”

“Very good. Agent McClure, you will use this time to independently verify the asset’s progress, and identify further training needs. I’ll look for your report, lieutenant.”

“Pr-progress? Hang on – cease fire. Do I get a say here?” Chuck asked. “General, what exactly does that mean?”

“That means,” McClure broke in, slanting him a devious look, “I’m taking you through basic, asset. Hit the sack early. Six a.m., we start getting you into fightin’ shape. Marine’s PT. That’s what civilians call physical fitness training.” McClure swept his eyes over the nerd’s lanky form. “You can just call it hell though, asset,” he added with a sneer.

“General,” Chuck stammered, his eyes searching for a glimmer of mercy before realizing she hadn’t flinched during McClure’s threat. Swallowing down his nerves, he barreled ahead. “I can’t do training now. I have an itemized spreadsheet from Ellie as long as my arm of pre-wedding tasks sorted by date and duration. I can’t let my sister down.”

Leaning back in her chair, Beckman folded her arms over her chest, eyeing him with a deep frown. Chuck felt himself withering under the general’s patented four-star stare, but he didn’t shrink back. “I see,” she said after a heavy pause. “Very well. Training will begin six a.m. Monday. McClure, ensure the –”

“Wait, again, General.” Chuck took a step closer to the screen and snatched the detailed report McClure had set on the desk, forcing himself not to wad it in a ball. “Monday. None of this – the microscopic surveillance, the trip-to-hell training – will be necessary. Casey will be back by then. There’s no reason to –”

“Mister Bartowski,” she said, intervening with a cold glare before he could dig his hole any deeper. “There is no guarantee that the major will be returning by then. In fact, it is hardly likely.” Beckman veered her gaze to McClure. “Monday. Begin his evaluation then.” The video feed ended abruptly.

Both men stared at the darkened screen in silence before McClure turned towards Chuck and dramatically cracked his knuckles. “Self defense, huh? Monday can’t get here soon enough.”

Chuck narrowed his eyes at the agent. “I agree, because the general is wrong. You’ll be gone by then.”

-x-

“Chuck, where is Morgan?” Ellie was trying not to sound panicked as she rounded the corner from the kitchen.

The kid took his attention away from the mocha and pink cherry blossom favor bag he was attempting to stuff with heart-shaped chocolates. “Four words I never thought I would hear you say, Ellie. You know, after the restraining order and all, I didn’t think you would actually accept the bearded-one into our lives,” Chuck said, grinning up at her from his seat at the dining table.

“Hah. I mean it though. You said he would be here. Assembly line, remember? This job will go faster with another set of hands.”

“Don’t worry, sis. He had the closing shift tonight, but Morgan promised me he would be here.” Chuck found the scissors and held up one of the bags by the folded seam at the top. “Are these supposed to be trimmed like this, with the little –”

“After you nip it, unravel the ends so that it looks like fringe. Just make it look … God, I wish Casey were here.”

“Uh, Casey?” Chuck blinked at her. “Because, somehow, I don’t think that assembling frou-frou favor bags is exactly his thing, El.”

“Yes, Casey. He would know how to make the perfect cuts, how to assemble them so that they look…well,” and she squinted at the one Chuck had just finished, “flawless. God, I miss him.”

You have no idea, Chuck thought miserably. The kid set down his scissors and began threading the ribbon through a particularly slim hole. “Ellie,” Chuck said. “He’ll be here.”

“Have you heard from John?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

“And?”

“What… what do you mean?”

“What is he doing?”

“Oh…” Chuck started, pretending to be distracted by knotting one of the ribbons. “He’s… well, they’re shooting things, I know that much.

“Shooting… things?”

“Just targets, Ellie.” Oh shit. “You know, practicing with the newest weapons. He said it’s… fun?” 

“Did he happen to mention when he would be back? Oh, and hand me that unopened box of chocolates. Devon, sweetie, isn’t there some wine…?”

“I’m on it, babe.” Awesome gave Chuck a look of desperation, and grabbing the bottle from the rack, he pulled down a wine glass from the cupboard. Moving behind Ellie’s back, Devon raised an eyebrow at his soon-to-be bro. “Tell her something comforting even if you have to lie through your teeth,” he mouthed. 

Chuck took Devon’s cue. “Uh, really, El. He promised.” The kid looked up from the ribbon snipping to give her his best placating grin. “And one thing I’ve learned about John is that when he says – ow!” With both eyes on his sister, Chuck misguided a snip of the scissors, slicing the tip of his finger. He glanced down to see a trail of blood seeping from the thin gash. “Uh-oh.”

“Oh, no!” Ellie’s eyes landed on the injury and she jumped out of her chair. “Don’t get blood on the table favors!” 

“Gah!” Chuck flew backwards in his chair and instinctively wrapped the hem of his white shirt around his finger. “Sorry, Ellie!” Glancing down at the blooming splotch of red, he clenched the fabric tighter. “But, sis, I have bigger concerns right now.”

“Babe,” Devon said as he looked up from pouring the wine. “That’s… cold. The table favors? This is your little bro.”

“Chuck, I am so sorry. It’s just a little –”

“That’s okay, really. I understand. And, look.” Chuck nodded at the unspoiled bag he had been working on. “No blood samples to hand out to your guests.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Uh, I guess not…?”

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” As the three turned, Morgan poked his head around the corner and threw his jacket on the sofa. “There was a disaster with a pallet of HD TVs and a squirrel – you should have seen that little guy – whoa! Is that blood?!” Blanching, he clutched the back of the sofa to steady himself.

“Devon – a little help here. I’ll take Chuck into the bathroom to take a look at –”

“– Really, El. That’s not necessary. It’s just a tiny cut and it’s almost stopped bleeding. I’ll just go get a band aid and then we can start up the last batch.”

“– and you take care of his bearded friend. Pronto. Let’s move, team. We’ve still got a job to do.” Ellie latched on to Chuck’s arm and pulled him up from the chair.

“Got any pepperoni pizza?” Morgan asked, holding his belly. “Something to settle the stomach a little?”

“It’s nothing, Ellie,” Chuck assured her. But his sister would have none of it, and Chuck rolled his eyes and let himself get towed into the bathroom. 

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing at the counter top. “Show me your hand.”

“Don’t go crazy-doctor-big sister on me, okay? I’m fine.”

“Let’s see it.”

Hesitantly, he unwrapped his finger from his shirt and held it out so that she could examine it. “See? It’s okay. It was nothing, really.”

She inspected the wound, turning his finger side to side. “You’re right. It’s not deep. I just need to clean and bandage it.” Tapping his cheek, she pivoted around and dug through her medical supplies stowed in the cabinet. “Sorry I overreacted, Chuck. It’s just that…” 

“Ellie, you don’t need to explain it to me, okay? I know what this is about, why you’re on edge.” Chuck focused on his sister’s face as she delicately wiped the area and wrapped the bandage around his finger. “But trust me, sis – he’ll be back by Saturday. This is Casey we’re talking about. He’s always been true to his word.”

“Thanks, Chuck.” Ellie smoothed the bandage before letting go of his finger. “I just want it to be perfect, you know? And… I want you to be happy on my wedding day.” 

“I will be, El. It’s your wedding day. How could I not be?”

“I think we both know the answer to that,” she said, patting his arm. 

Chuck pursed his lips in a frown. “Stop worrying, sis.”

Returning a weak smile, Ellie closed the box of supplies, setting it on the shelf. When she faced him, Chuck could see she had assumed the role of drill sergeant again. “Okay, back to work.” She washed her hands and dried them off on the towel next to the sink. “Fifty more to assemble, according to my calculations.”

“I’ll be right there,” he said. 

When Ellie disappeared around the corner, Chuck leaned back on the countertop, resting his shoulders against the cool tile and blew out a sigh. He closed his eyes and let his bones soak up the chill.

“There is no guarantee that the major will be returning by then. In fact, it is hardly likely.”

Hardly likely? The general’s stark words played back in his mind, exposing his niggling doubts that he had kept safely buried. And, hell, even Casey’s own lessons had taught him that you can’t count on anything going according to the mission specs when you’re out there. 

“God,” the kid whispered. “I hate this.”

“Dad, its Ellie’s wedding… you have to be there. Please. Don’t you want –”

“Charles, we discussed this. Orion is a target. I’m a target. I can never come out of hiding. My only contact has to be with you – to remove the Intersect, and that cannot change. I’m sorry, son.”

Swallowing down a lump in this throat, Chuck scooched off the countertop and faced the mirror. His eyes roved over the dark pools and somber expression of his own reflection. “Idiot, you can’t let her see that,” he murmured. Slowly, he forced a fake, bolstering grin on his face. 

For ten heart-numbing beats, he stared in the mirror, convincing himself the burning ache was from the cut.

Damn it.

-x-

“Get an owie there, asset?”

“Wha –!” Chuck closed the door to the apartment and spun around to glare at his temporary handler. “Must you lurk around every corner? It’s like living with a damn pack of Jawas.”

“Eh?”

“Figures,” he mumbled. “Never mind. How did you –?” Chuck bristled, wondering how McClure had noticed the bandage on his hand almost before he had crossed the threshold. But the explanation became clear when he saw that the lieutenant was perched at Casey’s desk, surveying the video feeds from Ellie and Devon’s dining room. 

“By doing my job.”

“That’s it, huh?” Chuck’s eyes skimmed over the screen, watching his sister stretch her back in exhaustion as she packed up the last of the table favors, sealing them in a plastic bin. Then, something caught her attention, and she set the box down and walked out of range of the cam.

Bastard. 

Chuck tossed his keys on the table and sauntered over to the desk. “Did you enjoy tonight’s episode? Because, if not, I’m sure you could wiggle those rabbit ears and get the Lakers game or re-runs of the Incredible Hulk… since you don’t have anything better to do,” the kid tacked on sarcastically.

God, he hated the intrusion of the government even more at times like this. Every private moment with his family, every conversation scrutinized, recorded for posterity.

McClure narrowed his eyes at the kid before climbing out of the desk chair to tower over him. It wasn’t as if he was that much taller than Chuck – maybe an inch or two – but his sheer bulk made up for it in spades. And the prick knew it. 

“You think I enjoy this, asset? Makes me want to gouge my eyes out.” With one last threatening look, he walked into the kitchen and scoured through the refrigerator until he found a beer. “Though, your sister….”

“What about my sister?”

“She’s easy on the eyes, that’s all.”

“You son of a bitch,” Chuck said bitterly, rasping out each word between his teeth. “Don’t you ever make comments about my sister – or anyone in my family.”

“Or you’ll what?” Peering over the countertop that separated them, McClure popped open the beer and took a long swig. He pretended to study the bottle before glancing at Chuck again. “Hard to believe Major Casey…” The lieutenant’s voice trailed off and he took another drink.

The kid moved a step closer. “What did you say – were you talking about… the major?”

“Yeah,” McClure shrugged. “I’m just disappointed in him, that’s all.”

Chuck felt a tremor zip through his legs and spine, and heat flare up his neck like the eruption of a flash bang. His arms were dangling at his sides, but his hands reflexively formed white knuckled fists.

Think…get a hold of yourself. You can’t beat him at his game.

McClure noticed the tight clench of fists and Chuck’s blazing cheeks, which only made his smirk grow broader. “Gonna try and kick my ass, asset?” he chuckled, taking another sip. “What I meant was, I’m surprised by the major. Look at you.” The lieutenant’s eyes raked over Chuck from head to toe. “Mouthy, headstrong, ‘pain in the ass’–set. I’m just sayin’ that maybe Major Casey’s reputation as a handler was blown way out of proportion, that’s all. Obviously, he’s not handling you at all.”

If Chuck weren’t so pissed, he would have found amusement in the irony of that statement.

The kid bit down on his lip and gave the NSA agent a black look. Okay, maybe he couldn’t beat McClure at his game, but he sure as hell couldn’t beat Chuck at his either. 

“Is that so, sir?” Chuck’s eyes darted down to the keyboard, and before McClure could react, his fingers began furiously typing a string of commands across the keys. Then, hitting one final keystroke with a loud tap, he gave the agent a wide, cynical smile. “Have fun surfing tonight.” Sidling past the desk and through the living room, Chuck headed up the stairs with one last parting shot. “Asshole.”

“Hey, get back here!” McClure called up the stairs. “What the fuck did you do to my computer?! What’s –”

But his shout was severed by a mechanical, yet sultry, female voice that oozed from the speakers. Whipping his head towards the monitor, the agent watched as the screen briefly displayed a woman reclining on a beach before the picture began to waver and contort. 

“Oooohhh, that’s sexxxxy. Am I sexxeeee?”

“What the …?” McClure’s eyes flared open wide as he frantically scanned the computer screen. “Who – who the hell is … Irene Demova?”

Phissst.

“Ho…leee hell… I’m gonna kick your – Fire!” The agent’s head twisted right to left as he scrambled for anything within reach to smother the sparking, smoldering wires and components. Finally, he lunged for the throw rug in the foyer and threw it over the desktop, blanketing the inky curls of smoke that had begun to coil in tendrils towards the ceiling.

“Got a computer emergency there, McClure?” Chuck asked, watching him over the banister – and in sync, the fire alarm in the kitchen screamed to life.

“You little puke…” McClure growled. Resting his hands on his hips, he wrinkled his nose in disgust, surveying the damage to his surveillance system. “That’s government property you just destroyed!”

“So am I,” Chuck replied. “Oh, and one last thing: you can bite me, sir.” 

-x-

“Babe, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen, well, Jeffster unplugged in concert.” His lame attempt at humor did nothing to wipe the grim expression from Ellie’s face. “Uh, I thought you were going to take that to Chuck?” Devon set down his glass of milk and nodded at the Buy More windbreaker Ellie had in her hand. He had watched her fetch it off the hook by the door, shaking her head at how forgetful her brother could be, and told her fiancé she would be right back. “Honey? Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Oh God…” Ellie leaned against the door and brought her hand up to her mouth. Even from across the room, Devon could see her face was ash white. “I think something odd is going on,” she announced.

“What do you mean?”

“Devon, I heard… another man’s voice coming from Casey and Chuck’s apartment.”

“That’s great, right? Maybe Casey made it back already.”

“It wasn’t Casey!”

“Not so fast – just, listen to what you’re saying, babe. How do you know it wasn’t him?”

“Casey’s voice is … I don’t know, kind of low and rough, yet silky at the same time –”

“Rough? Silky? El, I –”

“And this man’s voice was, I don’t know, Devon, angry and sharp, like a knife. Oh God…”

“Are you sure it was from their apartment? Maybe –”

“And I could hear… they were watching… oh my God, my baby brother was watching porn! With a strange man!”

“El, he’s twenty-eight. I’m sure he’s seen porn. He spent three and a half years away at college, remember?”

If she had heard Devon speak, none of it registered. “Then, I heard them raise their voices, yelling, as if they had gotten into a fight.” Ellie stepped away from the door and began pacing across the living room rug. After a half dozen laps, she stopped dead in her tracks and turned to the Captain. “Do you know what this means, Devon?”

“Wherever you are going with this, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation, so why don’t we just turn in for the night? This will all look different in the morning, I promise.”

Her palm landed on her forehead. “I don’t believe it.” Lowering her voice, Ellie turned to Devon with watery hazel eyes. “My baby brother is a… I can’t believe I’m saying this… a dirty little slut.”

-x-

“So, let me get this straight: you told him that you’re government property. Those were your exact words.” 

“Well, that was right before I told him that he could bite me. Oh, but no worries. I did remember to dignify it with a ‘sir’ at the end,” the kid chuckled.

“Jesus. H. Christ.”

“What?” Chuck sat down at the end of their bed, using his shoulder to hold the phone in place so that he could unbutton his shirt. “Wait, wait – are you… pissed at me for this?” he sputtered. “Didn’t you hear anything I just said? He essentially told me that you’re incompetent as my handler! Doesn’t that make you want to, I don’t know, shoot things?” 

“Chuck, he’s a dickhead.” The nerd could hear Casey heave a breath of impatience, and Chuck was miffed that it was aimed at him instead of McClure. “Don’t you think I’ve had to deal with Beckman’s new breed of show dogs my entire career, nipping at my heels to take out –” The agent broke off as Chuck heard street noise from a motorcycle zipping by. In a flash, he pictured Casey in a car, or a limo, or even shotgun on a rickshaw on a busy road somewhere.

“You mean, they want to take out the top dog?” Chuck offered up.

“Yeah, that’s right. And, it’s no secret that I’m the top fucking dog. They’re hungry. They want to be the one, and they’ll do whatever it takes.”

“But what will you do about him?”

“Heh. Same thing I always do.”

“Oh? Oh!” Chuck stuttered, his eyes bulging. “I should let you know that I’m incredibly freaked out right now, having witnessed your interrogation methods, or other persuasive techniques so, please, no need to fill in the blanks for me on what it is that you intend, or the –”

“– Okay, think of it this way: you gotta show the new dog who the master is. Give it a lesson. So, I dole out the lessons. Simple as that, kid.” 

“Alright, so what about McClure, Casey? He insulted you!”

“Chrissakes, Bartowski, one well-placed combat boot up his ass after I land in Burbank will solve that little problem,” Casey said. “But that doesn’t solve the other problem – you just revealed umbra security level Intel to a non-authorized agent.”

“Okay, say it,” Chuck huffed. “You’re thinking that I don’t know when to shut my mouth.”

The line was silent for a few seconds. “I really need to say that again, eh?”

“Point,” Chuck frowned. “But my point is you’re overreacting, which now that I think about it, you usually leave to the professionals. What’s the big deal? What did I say?”

“Agent McClure has been tasked to provide twenty-four hour surveillance to a high level security asset. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know what you are.” Casey paused, and Chuck could almost see the spark in his blue eyes before he went on, speaking lowly. “Now, he knows you’re more than that. You’re intellectual property of the government, and he can’t help but wonder what you’ve got in your head – and maybe what its worth. You planted a seed.”

“You don’t trust him? He’s NSA.”

“No,” Casey told him. “There’s only one person I trust.”

A smile lit up Chuck’s face. “Every now and then you surprise me by saying the sweetest –”

“– who can’t keep his fucking mouth closed for one goddamn minute,” Casey finished with a growl.

The grin slid off the kid’s face as he shouldered the phone again, this time to drag his pants off. “Annnd, there it is. Sweet moment completely forgotten,” he said. “But, I planted a seed? For what? That he can auction me off on the Snidely Whiplash version of ebay? Be able to retire on a tiny island in the South Pacific?”

“Put a cork in it, will ya’? He can hear you. This is what I want you to do: if you see anything suspicious about this asshole, you ditch the bastard, go straight to Castle, and contact Beckman. Got it?”

“Yeah, got it. Geez. I still think you’re overreacting.”

“And keep it down. He might be listening.”

“Um, about that. Probably not.” Folding his slacks on the back of a chair, Chuck pulled a pair of cotton pants out of his drawer and sat on the bed to slide them on. “He’s a little… preoccupied at the moment.” The attempt to ratchet down the glee in his voice was an utter failure, and he knew Casey picked up on it. 

“What the hell did you do, Bartowski?” Casey asked before stopping himself. “Okay, shit, never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“Does the NSA have its own Nerd Herd squad – you know, tech support?”

“Fuck. Tell me you didn’t.”

“What?” Chuck replied in his most innocent tone. “Just asking.”

-x-

“Dude, it’s kinda creepy, huh?”

“Uh, what’s creepy?” Chuck asked, plucking his mini screwdriver out of his pocket protector. He began to loosen the back panel from a broken laptop before slanting a puzzled look at his best friend. “Besides the baseline level of creepiness this place carries, of course.” 

“Him.” Morgan raised his coffee mug to take a drink, and tipped his head in the direction of the bulky corporate ‘quality auditor’ who was eyeballing them from across the sales floor. “Have you noticed, Chuck? He never takes his eyes off of you.”

The kid smoothed his tie anxiously and glimpsed past the rack of toner cartridges to the enormous man poised at the end of the aisle. McClure’s arms were folded over his broad chest and he held a clipboard in one hand. 

Chuck cleared his throat. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure it’s just your imagination. He’s not watching me.”

“My imagination? Did you know that he followed us to Sbarro yesterday?” Morgan lowered his voice to an urgent whisper as he set his coffee cup down, not taking his eyes off of the agent. “Chuck! He followed you into the men’s restroom – probably looking for a little,” and the bearded man made a rude gesture, poking one finger through a circle he had made with his finger and thumb on his other hand. “You know… man-action.”

“Stop that,” Chuck hissed, swatting at Morgan’s hands while his eyes scanned the room to see if anyone had noticed. “Get your hands down. Someone’s going to see what you’re doing!” 

“Talking to Chuck about his new secret admirer?” a voice behind them asked. Chuck and Morgan spun around to see that Lester had slinked up behind them, and Jeff was on his heels. “You’ve got your hands full with that one, eh, Chuckie?” Lester let his eyes drift from Chuck’s bewildered face to McClure, who was still keeping tabs on them from his post on the sales floor. “What will Casey have to say about that, I wonder.”

“Yep,” Jeff added. “When the big cat’s away, the mice –”

“Please… go away. All of you. I’m actually trying to get some work done here.” Chuck ducked his head down, intently removing the last screw from the bottom of the laptop and the panel popped off. “There’s nothing going on.”

“At least … now, you know your scent.”

“What?” Chuck nearly dropped the laptop battery he had just removed when he whirled around to face Jeff. “Scent? What are you talking about – wait. No. I don’t want to know. Just… go away.”

“Your scent, dude,” Jeff said again.

Chuck blinked at him. “I beg you not to continue this conversa –”

“Every person has a scent. It’s a force.”

“Not THE force, of course,” Lester inserted.

Clapping a hand on Chuck’s shoulder, Morgan jumped in to translate. “A force that draws two people together. Or types of people, Chuck. Don’t you get it?”

“My scent happens to be the musk of repulsion,” Jeff deadpanned. “But Chuck’s –”

“Holy cow, Batman,” Morgan said slowly, as the revelation had finally hit him. “Chuck is the nerd magnet for big, bad-ass mountains of man meat. Chuck! It’s like you’re the tractor beam for all things huge and scary. You have –”

“The scent,” Jeff said, this time with a note of reverence. 

“– that they can’t resist. You intoxicate them with this stuff, man. You electrify their hormones. Make them powerless.” Morgan stopped and shook his head. “God, if only we would’ve known this in eighth grade. Things could’ve been so differ –”

“Oh, God.” Chuck tossed the screwdriver on the desk, glaring at his fellow Nerd Herders and his best friend. “I’m going to take my break.” He held up his hand at the trio and backed away from them as he rounded the desk. “Listen carefully. None of you will follow me. None of you will speak to me for the rest of the day. Please nod your heads that you understood what I just said.”

Morgan frowned, but eventually nodded. Lester grinned at him with a wicked gleam in his eyes and said nothing. And Jeff leaned forward into the space Chuck had just vacated, closed his eyes, and filled his lungs with a long deep whiff of the air.

Lester turned to him. “What does it smell like?”

“It smells like chicken,” Jeff told him.

Chuck fled.

-x-

Casey stood in front of the steamed bathroom mirror and snagged the thin white towel from the rack, a stiff terrycloth ubiquitous of every crappy motel the NSA had stuck him in over his career. Not that he was complaining. A shallow ditch in a suffocating sand storm in Kuwait was by far worse than this dump on the outskirts of Cartago.

Dragging the towel through his hair, across the back of his neck, and trailing down his chest, he dried off the best he could with the thread-bare fabric before tossing it on the countertop. He tugged on his dark wash jeans and started to reach for his black t-shirt, but he stopped. With his chin angled towards the mirror, Casey laid his thick palm on the glass and swiped it in a circle to reveal his reflection.

The agent appraised the man peering back at him. A little battle-weary; a knick on his upper ribcage from a knife fight in Bogotá, a few scars and scrapes that somehow never quite healed, but, hey, all in all, not fucking bad for a … practiced soldier with a few dozen skirmishes under his belt. And that number doesn’t come close to the ‘unauthorized’ altercations. 

But this scrutiny wasn’t about him, he admitted to himself. It was about the mark. The goddamn seduction of a man that would take place in a few hours from now.

Jesus.

His eyes blazed as he studied the reflection. The guns – heh, all of them – were still his best feature, though he would never say that out loud. But no way was this fucker going to be exposed to his primary weapon anyway. 

Objectively, Casey knew – well before Roan’s weak-ass excuse for seduction training – that it’s not really about the looks anyway. Oh, yeah, they may get you through the door, but not on the dance floor. That takes the finesse of other elements. The languid smooth movement of hands, mouth, eyes, with the subtle intonation of the voice – they work together in a seduction. 

It wasn’t that way with Chuck. A seduction was like a cut with a razor. Shallow. Quick. Gone in a minute. But the kid? It was him that did it to Casey – son of a bitch, how did that happen? – slowly entangling him in a warmth that he didn’t even know he craved until it was there. 

With one last look in the mirror, Casey reached for his t-shirt again and began to shrug it on when he heard the ring tone. Dammit. The burner. It was Chuck. 

Fuck his timing.

Threading his fingers through his still-damp hair, Casey scooped up the phone and walked into the bedroom to sit on the bed. He snatched a pair of socks out of the duffle and finally picked up the call.

“You have to talk to Beckman. Seriously, Casey. He followed me into the bathroom! He would have wormed his way into the stall if I was any slower at the latch. I mean, geez, boundaries, right?”

“Slow down, sport,” Casey growled. “You called me to talk about what, exactly.”

The agent heard an exasperated sigh. “Sorry, Casey. Uh… are you okay? Is the mission…?”

“Going according to specifications so far.”

“Oh. Do you want to tell me what –”

“No.” There was a lull as Casey pulled on a sock. The mission. He ignored the heat he felt climbing up his neck to redden his face. “Now what the hell was that babble about?”

“McClure. Or Sir McClure, whatever you want to call him. Casey, he’s a maniacal robot. I’m tempted to nick him with one of your kitchen knives just to see what circuitry is under his thin layer of artificial epidermis.”

“You remember what I said. Shut up, fly straight, and I’ll be home soon.” The hush stretched to a breaking point and Casey felt himself weakening. Damn Chuck. “And, maybe I can talk to Beckman,” he added quietly.

“Thank you.” With Casey’s offer on the table, Chuck sounded less riled up at least. “But please hurry. I don’t think I can survive PT.”

“PT? You?” Casey grunted. “I’ll come home to nothing but a dried up pile of gangly bones and a plastic nametag.”

“This isn’t helping, you know. But, speaking of which… ‘coming home’?”

Every agent sense rippling in his body told him this sure as hell was not the conversation to be having before the … Chavez op. Casey was struck by a thousand reasons he should end this call, and make up an excuse later. Tell Chuck the connection got dropped. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. All of it was overshadowed by one reason to hang on.

“Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Casey listened, surprised that it was the kid letting the silence drag out this time.

“Ellie.” He could hear Chuck lick his lips nervously. “Well, she said something to me… about us –”

“Fuck no.” Casey scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “You are not going to –”

“Whoa. Hear me out. At first, I thought it was just crazy. That she was only imagining – ohgodyouare gonnahatethispart – uh… commitment issues –”

“Did you just say – you know what? ‘Hate’ isn’t strong enough, kid.”

“But now I’m wondering if maybe it’s because,” and Chuck stopped to groan at what he was going to have to get out into the open, “standing up in Ellie’s wedding is too much of a commitment to me and my family and that you’re trying to get out of it. There! I said it.”

“Chuck, I told –” Casey began, until a shrill voice in the background butted in.

“Is that John you’re talking to? Did he say he’s trying to get out of his nuptial duties? She’ll freak, man! She already has every groomsmen matched by size and hair color to a respective bridesmaid. Not easy considering the scary dude’s bulk, if you know what I mean. Un minuto, dude – does he need to talk to Uncle Morgan? Well, lucky for him, the love doctor is in.” There was a clumsy moment when Casey heard the distinct clicking of an ink pen. “Pass me the phone, Chuck.”

“Hold on a goddamn minute,” Casey growled. “Are you having this conversation where that numb-nuts can hear us?”

“Uh, Casey. I didn’t hear that. Morgan just got here and two people were talking at once.”

“Chuck?” Casey grit out evenly. 

“Y-yeah?”

“Get your scrawny ass out in the courtyard right now. Leave the moron where he is.” 

“Sorry, Morgan,” the agent heard Chuck whisper, “Casey wants to have a private… uh, I’ll be right out here if –” The rest was muffled. Casey pictured Chuck climbing through the window and settling on the edge of the fountain, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he sat in the waning light. 

“Okay, okay. Sheesh, I’m back. And, stand down, major. Morgan didn’t hear anything about you-know-what.”

“Where’s McClure? How do you know he’s not listening to us?”

“I believe ‘sir’ is still having audio issues, though his video feed appears to be working fine… which is probably why he hasn’t stormed the castle yet to drag me back inside.” The kid’s voice was tinged with a dose of self-satisfaction. “I think the NSA shuffled him off to a help desk in Chennai. He may be awhile.”

“God, I still don’t want to know, do I?”

“Never fight a nerd on a nerd’s battle ground. Even you have learned that tough lesson by now,” Chuck grinned.

“Heh. Nerds,” Casey said with a snort. Secretly, he was damn proud of the kid for showing some backbone with the asshole in a way that still kept him safe.

“Casey?” Just like that, Chuck’s voice was infused with seriousness again. “It’s just you and me now – no Morgan, no Ellie, no McClure.” The words hung heavy, and Casey filled the uncomfortable break by fishing through his duffle for his decent shoes. “Answer the question,” the kid said in a low tone. “Are you trying to get out of being in Ellie’s wedding?”

Casey closed his eyes, taking a deep inhalation and letting it out. This was a tenuous, unexplored territory for him… and Chuck was dragging him there at warp speed. 

“Casey? Are you still there?”

“Yeah.” Slipping on his shoes, he dug around for the leather belt next. “What.”

“What? I know you heard me.” And now, Casey felt his chest constrict when Chuck’s voice broke just barely at the end.

The agent sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed his SIG from the drawer, checking the magazine. It calmed him to hold his handgun; smooth, familiar, comfortable. Fingering the worn black grip plate gave him time to think. 

“Let me ask the questions,” Casey told him, slowly setting the gun next to his bag.

Chuck hesitated. “Okay, I guess. We’ll do it your way. Shoot.”

“At the wedding… will there be gut-wrenching amounts of small talk and twittering among groups of idiots and morons?”

“Twittering? And, morons – that’s really not fair to say that everyone –”

“Stow it. Answer the question.”

“Uh, well, wedding receptions are generally a time when there could be ample opportunity for –”

“Next question,” Casey cut in, not letting him ramble. “Will there be painful formal attire – say, cummerbund bow ties?”

“You can’t pin the cummerbund decision on Ellie, Casey. Honey said that Woody looks handsome in a cummerbund, and –”

“Move on, Bartowski. I’m not done yet,” Casey said. “Will there be awkward dances where a certain someone will be expected to –”

“Awkward dances?” Chuck asked. “Like what?”

“Do I really need to spell out this shit for you, Bartowski? I thought you were the fucking genius around here.”

“Are you referring to the ever-present wedding reception standby like the hokey pokey, or the –?”

“Sonuvabitch,” Casey muttered. “Don’t even say it.”

Chuck laughed softly, glancing over to the bedroom window to see if Morgan had popped his head out at the rumbling sound. “No worries. I personally put the song list together, and I can vouch for the lack of hokeys and pokeys, or even the Macarena.”

“Eh?”

“You don’t want to know,” Chuck replied. “So, unless the Captain’s great Aunt Millie slips the DJ a quarter, I think you’re safe there, big guy.”

“That’s the other problem.”

“Hmmm? His aunt?”

“Strange-ass people,” Casey clarified. “Staring at us. Wondering why the hell Ellie’s little brother is shacking up with a… eh, shit...”

“C’mon, you can say it. A grizzly bear?”

“Not helping, Bartowski.” Casey stood up and stuffed his SIG into his waistband. God, this shirt was tight, clinging to his chest and the width of his shoulders. Turning his back towards the mirror, he looked over his shoulder to see if the handgun was visible. He reminded himself it would be dark – both places – so the little fucker probably wouldn’t notice what he was packing. In the back, anyway.

“Casey, are you still there? What’re you doing?”

The agent opened the bottle of water he had set on the table, and took a long drink. “Still here,” he said, forcing his voice to be flat. “Preparing for the mission.”

“Oh.” He heard Chuck fidgeting. “Okay, you make good points, and I can understand why you may be … apprehensive. But, you can’t do this to… Ellie –”

“– you,” Casey huffed at the same time.

If he didn’t breathe, the agent could almost hear the soft, whispered sounds of the fountain burbling behind the kid. He rubbed his aching neck – damn, he felt like a punching bag before the mission even got underway – and he stilled. Waiting for the truth to work its way up to the surface. 

“Yeah, that too,” Chuck finally admitted.

Casey buried the crazy urge to be there right then to kiss the petulant sulk he knew Chuck was wearing. 

Instead, the agent switched gears. Hell, he had to; the conversation was putting his chest in a vise, making his ribs feel like they could splinter and crack under the band of pressure gripping him. 

“Shove a muzzle on the wedding talk for now, will ya’?” Casey told him. “But, I’m not done with my questions, Bartowski.” The agent pulled his phone away from his ear for a few seconds, raising an eyebrow at an attached file he had received late the night before. “What was that you sent me last night? A text?” 

Chuck’s crimson blush could be felt a continent away. “Oh-ho… you did see that, huh? And get with the program, it’s not texting. It’s sexting, Casey.”

“Heh,” Casey smirked, scrolling through the images before returning the phone to his ear. “I never knew you had a tiny freckle there.”

“Really? Because… you know, you have gotten a close-up look before. Many times, I might add.”

“Too bad I wasn’t there to take care of your problem.”

“Well, I feel you should know that I have you to blame if I get a head cold right before the wedding, buster. Cold showers are not fun.”

“Neither is the one-person variety.” Casey zipped up his duffle and examined himself in the mirror one more time. Then, slanting a look to the side, his eyes locked onto the crisp image of his mark, his target tonight. He picked up the photo and studied the vacant eyes, the slick-black hair. The perfect straight smile. 

“Are you … sure you’re alright?”

“’Course I’m alright. Listen, Chuck.” Casey swallowed to strangle down the bile he felt tickling his throat. “I’m gonna have to hang up.”

Even though he knew Chuck understood, he still heard a gloomy hum from the kid. “Okay… Just remember this: you, Casey? You’re all about the big guns and taking out the Ivan the Terrible. But me? I’ve got a lifetime of hands-on experience contending with humiliating social situations. I’ve got your back, buddy,” Chuck said. “So, after all of these months, you’ve asked me trust you. Now, I have one question for you… Do you trust me?”

Inspecting the glossy photo, Casey bunched his fingers together and fought the urge to drive his fist through the snapshot. He swallowed again so that his words wouldn’t be rough, come out in a raw choke.

“Yeah, kid. I do.”

 

-x End Chapter Three x


	4. Chapter Four

Casey vs. Human Elements 

Chapter Four

-x-

“Pack your bags. You leave in seven hours, major.”

Casey took one even stride towards the bank of monitors in Castle. “General, if I may.”

After a brief hesitation where her scowl tightened – and Casey swore if he squinted, even her burnished copper bun grew tauter – the general acquiesced with a nod.

“I question the method your analysts have prescribed for this mission.”

“I sense some reluctance on your part, Major Casey.”

“The usual method of persuasion has been successful. My track record speaks for itself. I belie –”

“And, I must say, this is not your usual method – to question your commanding officer.” The general studied his face, and after a moment, Casey saw her thin lips untwine. “I can usually reserve my bluntness for others who may need further explanation, but you? Very well,” she said flatly. “My NSA profilers have found evidence that Chavez has… let’s say…a long and somewhat colorful past with a certain type of man. A man such as yourself, major.”

Casey had to clench his jaw to stop the snort. The general can’t bring herself to say what her pencil pushing profilers have told her: man-slut. Another reason to hate the beady-eyed, Larkin look-alike little bastard. 

“Therefore, if you employ your usual methods, we will never find out who’s playing in the sandbox with him. If you try to get him to broker a deal with you – which would take time we don’t have – my profilers tell me he may become suspicious and flee. Go underground where we’ll perhaps never be able trace him or the Core again.”

“But I could –”

She met his eyes squarely. “Attempt to ‘buddy up’ to him? Maybe you’ve spent too much time in California, Major Casey, but here on the East Coast, when friends get together, it’s not standard operating procedure to remove our clothing.” Her left brow nearly reached her hairline. “I’ve already revealed to you that the Core is most likely hidden on his person, and we need Amado alive.” 

Casey heard her unspoken order reverberate through his head. ‘Get his damn pants off and find it.’

“I’ll expect your report of a successful mission on my desk by next week.” She sat up straighter and let her gaze sweep over him. “Major Casey, feel free to… omit any indelicate details not directly pertinent to the operation.”

The video feed ended abruptly with the NSA emblem – a bald eagle grasping a key in its talons –blanketing the screen.

Casey crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at it. He had never felt this level of resentment towards the NSA. “Weak-ass reasoning,” he said to himself. “The bitch is testing me.”

-x-

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Casey kept his eyes trained on Chavez, watching him reach into his black leather jacket for a pack of cigarettes. The mark had just stepped out of the seedy motel where he was holed up, and glancing in both directions, he lit the smoke and took a long drag. 

Fucking great. The little dick smokes cigarettes. The agent appreciated the taste, the velvety nuance of an aromatic cigar, but tonight, if the mission went according to specs, his taste buds would be blitzed with the pungent burn of Marlboros.

Eh.

The agent’s blue eyes sparked, studying the man’s movements; the way he smoothed his coal-black hair, held the cigarette and flicked the ashes, while his eyes darted to the face of every passer-by.

The tan, older model Jeep was parked on the street about fifty yards down from the cinder block motel, a vantage point with a line of sight across the street, but enough distance to avoid suspicion. The evening light was waning and the traffic outside the adjacent liquor store was picking up. Hookers and addicts. A nice diversion. Casey had been planted in the driver’s seat for over an hour and it made him impatient. Edgy. He needed to get out of this tin can and stretch his legs.

“Are we walking or driving you little prick… make up your mind,” Casey murmured to himself.

As if the little fucker had heard his question, Chavez took a fleeting look down the road, another long puff, and headed past the liquor store on foot. 

“Ready for some company, huh?” Reaching over the seat, Casey grabbed a dark blue messenger bag from the back. He popped the driver’s door open and started to climb out, but he froze at something that had caught his eye. The agent rotated the rear view mirror and peered at his reflection. 

What the hell? Did he really expect to carry out a goddamn seduction with a sneer on his face?

“It’s a fucking job. Pull your head out, major,” he said quietly. Flipping the mirror back with a little more force than necessary, Casey threw the messenger bag over his shoulder, locked the Jeep and set off at an even pace. Three blocks and a right turn later, he watched as Amado took a final draw from his second cigarette and tossed the butt to the sidewalk. 

By the looks of it, El Biberon was the name of the joint where this shit was gonna go down. With a nod to a group of men huddled by the door, Chavez turned briefly, his profile lit up by the blue neon light, before he disappeared into the bar. 

Casey’s measured steps brought him to the dingy entrance about three minutes later. Shouldering his way past the men, entrenched in a heated discussion by the sounds of it, Casey stepped inside and waited for his pupils to adjust to the murk of the hazily lit watering hole. 

The cantina was slow, even for a weeknight, Casey figured. A few couples shared some drinks, crowded together around the small tables, with the low rumble of conversations and laughter drifting up. Music came from a jukebox – an authentic jukebox, for God sakes, not one of those digital players. This one had a row of vinyl 45s, and fuck it if Donna Summer wasn’t belting out Last Dance already. 

Just perfect, Casey thought, rolling his eyes. Thankfully, the volume wasn’t loud enough to rattle the bottles lining the shelves behind the bar. Having to shout over the music would’ve just added yet another complexity to this clusterfuck.

He could see the mark was at the bar, leaning back in one of the rattan stools that lined it, and already had a local brew in front of him. Casey let his eyes drift from the tables to the long horseshoe shaped bar before taking a seat, leaving two empty chairs between him and Chavez. 

Son of a bitch. It was way too early in the op to take note of the mark, but this asshole? A little discretion wasn’t going to hold him back, because Casey could already feel the scorch of Amado’s eyes skimming over him. Openly appraising him.

The agent pretended not to notice. 

He ordered the local Imperial beer – and hell, there was a menu on a tack board over the bar and the carnitas looked authentic, so he asked for a plate of them on the side. Settling back on his barstool, Casey hauled the messenger bag onto his lap, and tugged out a stack of papers, fanning several of them out in front of him. He studied them intently, occasionally stopping to scribble a note in the margins.

Because tonight, he was nothing more than a bored businessman, getting away from the hotel to soak up some local culture while catching up on work.

Well, this caught the dick head’s attention. Chavez slanted an inquisitive sideways look at him from time to time while picking at the label on his bottle. After a few minutes, Amado reached into his jacket and pulled out the cigarettes again, rolling one between his fingers before lighting it. 

Casey glanced at him briefly before reaching for his beer. Lifting the bottle, the agent took a long swig, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Not ice cold, but drinkable at least. He set the bottle down, off to the side of the papers…

…And just like that, it tipped over, spilling the amber liquid in a river over the documents he had so meticulously spread out on the wooden bar.

“Shit!” Casey bolted up in his chair, his eyes scouring the surface for a napkin or towel. Spying a rag the bartender had used, he leaned over the counter and latched onto it, and began to –

“Wait, wait. You’ll smear it. Don’t do that. Here, hold it up, and I’ll…” Snatching a stack of bar napkins, Chavez smiled as he lifted one of the documents, and passing it to Casey, wiped up the pool of liquid. “That’ll just make a mess if you do it that way.”

“God, what an idiot I am,” Casey mumbled, giving the man a tentative smile. “I only hope I can salvage something out of this…”

-x-

Beep.

“Casey, I know you don’t want to talk about this particular subject, but the rehearsal dinner is tomorrow. I know. Ellie is freaking out. Okay, maybe not just her…?” Chuck waited for no reason. “Anywaaay, Mario’s called and they want a count of main dishes. Now, I told Ellie you would want the rib eye, but she insisted I call to check – just in case you’ve had your share of red meat this week.” Another awkward moment passes. “Those were her words, Casey, not mine. So, do you want the sea bass?”

Chuck swallowed, shooting a look towards the microwaves in aisle four where McClure was camped out. “Can you call me?”

-x-

“Trent Ruger.” Casey stuck out a large hand, locking eyes with the mark. He was careful to hold the glance a second or two longer than socially acceptable norms, letting his eyes linger on Amado’s face. “You can just call me klutzy though,” he grinned.

“Andrew Jones.” Amado’s palm was dry but smooth, and he clutched onto the hand Casey offered before letting it drop. “My friends call me Andy.”

“Andy,” Casey nodded, showing no surprise that Chavez had adopted the perfect American accent. Wiley little bastard. 

“So, Ruger, huh?” Chavez raised a brow at him and quirked an oily grin. “Like the…?” he asked, pointing his finger level and his thumb up, signaling a gun.

“Oh? Oh, no,” Casey chuckled. “I’ve gotten that before. Spelled the same way too. But, that’s the extent of the similarities, I’m afraid. I’m not much into… uh, firearms,” he said, glancing down at his soggy documents. 

Yeah, it felt good to stand while sopping up the mess, because it meant the cold metal barrel of the SIG wasn’t digging into the skin of his lower back. But Chavez sat down again, so Casey took the cue to get comfortable, to plan on settling in for the evening. 

Funny. In the excitement of the spill, the little numb-nuts must have forgotten which bar stool was his, because his ass was now planted in the seat next to Casey’s.

The agent stood tall next to his chair, looking down at him for a few seconds, before shuffling the papers to the side and sitting down. “I owe you a beer…or something…for helping me with the clean-up.” Casey raised two fingers in the direction of the gruff man behind the bar. “Let me at least buy this one.”

The sleazy Larkin doppelganger brazenly gave him the once over with his light blue eyes – hell, not even trying to be tactful about it – and Casey felt a brush of warm skin on his elbow. “I’ll take you up on your offer, I guess,” he smiled.

Inwardly, Casey cringed. That look, the way his eyes strayed over Casey’s face and chest… the only positive twist of this op was that, so far, Beckman’s drones had nailed this douche’s profile. 

Outwardly, Casey gave the man a crooked grin, much like a nerd’s grin that had done him in. Sinking in his chair, he threw his shoulders back and stretched his legs out, relaxed and at ease. Now that he had his foot in the door, Casey wasn’t going to screw this up by giving the wrong impression, so the agent forced himself to not fold his arms over his chest.

The steaming plate of pork carnitas arrived with the two beers, and Casey thumbed the dish between the two of them and nodded. “Help yourself to whatever you like.”

The asshole’s grin bloomed. “Thanks. I will.”

Did this prick just grow the cojones to wink at him? A goddamn wink?

“So, Burrows, huh? What is that?”

“What? Oh, that.” Casey’s eyes shifted to the company logo emblazoned on one of the pages. “Well, it was a report I wanted to review before sending it off tomorrow morning.” Tilting his head, Casey maintained steady eye contact. “Burrows is my employer,” he explained.

“And, what’s the story behind that?”

Nosy little fucker. Here goes. “Well, my title is Global Planning Specialist.”

“And what does that mean… exactly?”

“Well, that means I get to travel on the company dime to exotic locales,” Casey shrugged at the current foreign surroundings with a sardonic smile, “and I get to evaluate potential sites for expansion, analyze financial policies, political environment, workforce re – are you still awake over there?” Casey asked.

“I don’t know why you ask that.” Amado glanced down to Casey’s lips before focusing on his eyes again. “Sounds utterly fascinating to me.” 

Casey felt his skin crawl. Battling the desire to punch this guy in the face, he pasted on a smile and leaned forward in his seat, accidently kneeing the other man’s thigh. “I don’t know, sounds damn boring to me,” he offered up playfully, letting his eyes linger on the mark’s curious expression before taking a long drink. “After a while, anyway.”

“Must be hard on your family though, right?”

And there it is. The question sent a spike of adrenaline through Casey’s agent senses. Either this guy was the most obvious slut he’s had to face off with, or he’s been tipped. 

“My family? Oh, I – uh…” Casey started, forcing a small, but uncomfortable smile on his face. “Yes, it was hard on my... partner…which is probably why I don’t need to worry about that anymore,” he added, absently drawing his finger up and down the length of the bottle a few times. Luring him to watch his fingertip as it traced a path through the icy condensation. “The time away was… but why am I telling you this?” 

“Maybe I’m just easy to talk to,” Amado told him, tipping his beer. He locked Casey in a keen-edged gaze. “So, you’re on the road a lot? It has to be –”

Is this fucker really gonna make a move with the most clichéd line in the book?

“Lonely.”

Yep. He did it.

-x-

Beep.

“Soooo, you’re probably wondering why I’m calling you again, huh? Of course you are, because you’re probably in the middle of something dangerous or getting ready to umm… shoot something.” Chuck cleared his throat. “But… it’s Ellie.” The silence stretched for a few seconds while the kid dodged outside onto the Buy More loading dock. 

“You see, I called the tuxedo shop, and they told me the latest you can come in for the final fitting is ten a.m. Saturday. So, I guess what I’m asking is: are you going to be here by Saturday morning? Because, I need to tell Ellie something.”

“Asset. Where the hell are you?”

“Crap. Hey, Casey, I gotta go. But, are you going to call me back?” 

-x-

“I guess I had you pegged wrong.”

“Hmm? Why’s that?” Casey asked. Holding eye contact with Chavez just a fraction too long, he glanced away after a few ticks, and lifted his bottle to take a drink. He could feel the blistering heat of Amado eyeing his neck, watching his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. 

“You look like you have a military background.”

So the little shit wasn’t completely unperceptive.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Casey kept the easy smile pointed in his direction, letting his eyes quickly scan over the mark’s face. “I guess you don’t lose that even after, well, a few years. I started in the ROTC at Penn. I did my time.”

Smiling at this man, holding his gaze… hell, it was making his gut clinch up in a square knot. That and the black ooze of guilt roiling around down there probably wasn’t helping his stomach. 

Maybe it was the carnitas.

Fuck. 

“Mmm, I see.” The smarmy Larkin smile zeroed in on him. “You know what I like about military men?” Chavez waited, obviously testing the waters for the reaction he would get to such a blunt statement. 

“What is that?” Casey asked, letting his intonation purposely drop low, gravelly. Giving the mark an open look, the agent pictured a pair of deep brown eyes and silently counted to five. It felt like an eternity to keep his eyes latched onto those pretty boy features, but hey, it delivered the message. The corner of Casey’s mouth turned up in a small grin. “I’m listening.”

Amado hesitated only for a flash before reaching between their seats, pretending to accidently brush his knuckles against Casey’s thigh. “Because, they like it when people are… direct.” Chavez leaned in close with a devilish gleam, hot breath against the agent’s ear. “And, they know how to take orders.” 

-x-

Beep.

“Me again. Now, before you get pissed that you’re going to have ten messages waiting for you, let me just cover everything, okay? So, Mario’s needed an answer on the sea bass slash rib eye debacle, and I told Ellie that we spoke and confirmed the rib eye. Can you remember that on Friday when she asks? The other thing… I talked to the tux shop and I managed to negotiate more time. Okay, it’s only until eleven a.m., but still, right? I mean, if you can get here by eleven on Saturday, they promised the final alterations would be ready by three.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Okaaay, so I kinda had to hint that you’re an off the rack sort of guy anyway, so it shouldn’t be a big deal to nip and tuck here and there…welllll, if you could remember to slouch down a bit when we get there – maybe wear those flat sandals you hate… then maybe they won’t get all pissy with me when we get there by eleven, hmmm, big guy?”

-x-

“Burrows. Sounds like the name of big-time corporation. They must put you up in some decent accommodations.”

“Well,” Casey set down his drink, the hair on his forearm close enough to tickle Amado’s elbow. With his other hand, he rubbed the back of his neck and gave the man a flustered smile. “My busy-body co-worker who is traveling with me seems to think so.”

“Oh.” Chavez hooked an arm along the back of Casey’s bar stool, and the agent felt fingers skidding across his back. “My accommodations aren’t as …deluxe.”

Casey finished off the drink and wiped his mouth. “Will we notice?” he asked quietly.

The hand that Chavez had draped over the back of his chair reached up to ruffle the hair above Casey’s collar. “You make an excellent point,” the mark nodded, taking his final swig. “Want to get some air?”

-x-

“Soooo, you’re probably getting annoyed with me by now. Right? I mean, I can picture your jaw doing that little… you know, that cute little twitchy thing it does when you annnnd you probably don’t want to be reminded of this right now. I hope you don’t mind, but – are you sitting down? – I had to take the Vic to the airport today, but… don’t worry. Before you get all huffy about it, yes, I took Vicky through the brushless carwash and toweled her dry when I was done. Good as new. Honey had enough bags for an army, and they wouldn’t fit in anyone but your baby. 

“Is that … Casey? The mysterious, granite-like disappearing man of the hour? Does he want to…talk? Pass me the phone, Chuck.”

“Go away, Morgan!”

“You know, you’re probably getting ready to call me right this second, so I should just hang up and wait… ah… call me?”

-x-

“Hey, El.” Chuck propped the front door open with his shoulder, his arms loaded down with brown paper bags. “Okay, I exchanged the cake topper at the bakery – the unfortunate faux pas with the big buck hunting couple, complete with camouflage, has been replaced.” Scooting inside, he set the bags down on the dining room table and began digging through them. “Though, I gotta tell you, I’m going to miss the tiny shot guns with movable muzzles,” the kid smiled.

“You are a life saver, Chuck. Thank you,” Ellie sighed, falling on to the couch. “I just finished an eighteen hour shift. I never would have made it to The Knot Shop on time.”

“Annnd, here is the new topper,” Chuck announced, fishing it out of the bag with a flourish. “The kissing couple you ordered, complete with origami cranes, the symbol of a thousand years of happiness. Marked down to fifty-nine ninety-nine until next week.” Chuck studied it. “Or until their little paper wings disintegrate, whichever comes first,” he murmured. 

“What?”

“Uh, nothing.” He set down the cake topper and grinned broadly at his sister, but the smile faded when he saw a pained expression darkening her face. “Ellie, what is it?”

Slanting a look up at him, she lightly tapped the cushion next to her. “Come and sit here, little brother. We need to talk.”

“Uh-oh.” Chuck felt a tide of dread ripple down his spine. Holding up both hands defensively, he backpedaled towards the door. “Whatever this is, I should tell you that I have some... laundry I need to get caught up on and then –”

“I said sit. Please,” she added, realizing that came out a wee bit tersely.

With a groan, Chuck closed his eyes, staying rooted near the door. “Sis, really, I –” he started.

“I have some questions for you.” Ellie said more firmly. “And, you need to talk to me.”

The kid shook his head vehemently until he caught sight of the look his sister had trained on him. It was reminiscent of the nineteen ninety-two Pink-Piggy-Bank-Atari incident, the evil eye that brooked no room for argument. 

Chuck had mentally catalogued all of her looks, because in his lifetime, Ellie had been forced to play many roles: big sister, mother, mentor, cheerleader. But this expression? 

The Terminator.

“Oh, crap.” Darting a glance over his shoulder at the exit, Chuck flirted with the idea of making a break for it. “Ellie, whatever you’re thinking right now, I can tell you – it wasn’t my fault, so if –”

“The laundry can wait. This is important.”

Chuck gulped. He silently begged the gods of surveillance that the audio feeds were still on the fritz – because no matter what this was about, he knew it was a conversation he would never want to re-live. “Can we make it quick, sis? Because, after folding the clothes, I was going to, uh, head over to –”

“I know you too well, little brother. You’re stalling. Chuck?” She tapped the cushion twice, a bit more demanding this time. “Sit.”

Shuffling to the sofa, Chuck plopped down next to her and stretched his legs out, craning his head so that he could give her a clueless smile. 

Ooohhhh crap.

The concern on her face was now mingled with hurt, and if Chuck looked hard enough, anger. His heart rate kicked up its heels. 

“What is it, sis?”

“Just hear me out, okay?” Ellie put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “I know that you don’t want to rehash the five wasted years after Stanford, but –”

“Oh, no, not again, El –”

“Let me just say this, okay?” she pleaded. When Chuck blew out a sigh of resignation and nodded at her, she went on. “But, we both know, ‘the lost years’ happened. And, then, John… came along into your life, and that was, well… he’s been great for you, Chuck. I can see it. No more moping, you’re actually happy… and you found your identity –” 

“I really have no idea where you’re going with this, but I can only say –”

“And, now that you’ve found your identity, you may be wondering about the five years you lost. You know, what it may have been like if you would’ve… spread your wings a little during that time.”

“Spread my – wha-? For the record, still completely lost here, sis.”

“Chuck,” Ellie paused, tilting her head slightly and letting her eyes sweep over his confused face. “You must be wondering what it would’ve been like if you could have met other people during that time. Other people… like Casey.”

“Hmm? Why would I do that? I have Casey already, so I –”

“To experiment, test the waters a little before you and your partner are completely committed to one another.”

“But, Casey and I? I told you, we are committed,” Chuck blurted. “So I don’t know why we need –”

Ellie held up her hand to stop him. “I’m talking about the strange man you had in Casey’s apartment last night!” 

“What?!” Chuck managed to croak, wincing inwardly at the rough sound. “What are you talking about?” 

“I heard you, Chuck. I went to your door last night to return the jacket. I heard a strange man!”

“My jacket? You were outside the apartment?” 

McClure – that asshole!

“Yes. So?”

Swiping his sticky palms down his pant legs, the kid’s brain scrambled to latch onto any explanation that would seem even remotely plausible. “Ellie, there’s a very good reason,” Chuck stopped and fiddled with the tufted edge on one of the throw pillows, hoping for his breathing to slow. It didn’t help. “It’s… ah –”

“Well?” Giving him a hard look, Ellie sunk back into the sofa, taking the pillow from him so that he would be forced to give her his attention. “I’m waiting.”

Here goes. “That voice you heard? It was Casey and I… we were – Sk-skyping, on video chat.”

“I thought he was at his military training camp.”

“He was, I mean is.” Chuck ducked his head down and pretended to smooth his name tag. “He had a pass for off-duty hours last night. So, we video chatted…” 

“Chuck.” Ellie bit down on her bottom lip. “I heard… porn.”

Porn?! Oh God. The kid’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but the sounds were clogged in his windpipe. Clearing his throat, he stared up at her with panic swimming in his brown eyes. “Honest to God, El,” Chuck floundered. “It wasn’t porn, we weren’t –” 

“Chuck! What the hell. The truth.”

“Role-playing!” Chuck jolted at the phrase that had just flown from his lips, and he clapped his hand over his mouth – but it was too late, and he gaped at his sister in horror. Searching his mind frantically for an excuse, an escape hatch – hell, anything! – he finally loosened his palm from his lips. “Oh, God, please Ellie, don’t –”

“R-role playing?” she sputtered. “He was yelling at you to fix his computer. Chuck?”

Oh shit oh shit… Chuck grabbed the pillow from her and buried his eyes in it, heaving a pained breath. “…that’s how it… may start out…” he said quietly, the words muffled into the cushion.

Ellie gawked at him. “Oh? Oh!” Springing up from the sofa, she paced in front the table coffee table, her hand slapped over her forehead. “So, you were, ummm… there was… no one else?” 

The kid shifted the pillow on his lap to peek up at Ellie. Understandably, his sister’s face had the tinge of a person who had spent a week in a tanning bed with the dial set to charbroil. Halting in front of him, she leaned down and brushed her hand on his shoulder, waiting for him to cough up the truth.

“No,” Chuck mumbled miserably. With every word, he wished the sofa would peel open like a giant sink hole and swallow him up. “Just Casey… on the web cam. Trust me, El.” 

“Oh…I see.” Ellie glanced awkwardly down the hallway and faked a yawn. “You know, Chuck, I’m feeling a little tired.” She waved in the direction of the bedroom, averting her eyes from her baby brother. “Soooo, I think I’m just going to go, ah, turn in, for the night… if you want to just…” Her voice cracked and trailed off at the end. She backed down the hall with a tense smile plastered on her face. 

“Yes… uh, that’s great sis!” Chuck sprung off the sofa and nearly tripped over the side table as he made a dash for the door. “So, I’m just gonna, you know, head out for the night – boy, it’s ah – well… Bye!” He pulled the door closed and slumped against it, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Role-playing?!” he muttered to himself. “That’s what you share with your sister? Idiot!”

Chuck tipped his head back against the door, and with a suffering sound, he dug the burner out of his pants pocket. He dialed furiously while scanning the courtyard for any neighbors who may be outside enjoying a cool evening. 

“Casey, is your phone shut off? I need to talk to you!” When he heard the recorded beep telling him to leave a message, the kid groaned, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Well, thanks to the government,” he whispered urgently, “I had to tell my sister about the role-playing! Oh, but don’t worry, it was nothing too mortifying.” A healthy dose of sarcasm was brimming over by now. “You know, your ol’ stand by? The ‘wide-eyed innocent on-call Nerd Herder’? The good boy who gets a late night computer emergency request to fix the hard drive of the big, bad ass scary customer? Yeah, that one, Casey!” 

Message recorded.

Sitting on the edge of the fountain, Chuck massaged his temples before squinting in the direction of Casey’s living room window. Sure enough, McClure was now peering out at him between the slats of the blinds. Shit. The ass had most definitely watched Chuck leave Ellie’s, and was now spying on him in the courtyard. 

Holding the phone, the kid dialed his boyfriend’s number again. “Casey.” Chuck stared, unseeing, at the pebbles near his feet before kicking one across the cobblestones. He listened to it clatter until it stopped in the shadows. “Do you know any secrets for leaving the country when every move you make is being tracked by the government? Because, I gotta tell you, big guy, I’d rather smuggle myself into a cargo hold to somewhere more comfortable– Libya, perhaps – than have to face my sister again with that embarrassed, yet knowing, look on her face.”

“Casey?” Chuck breathed. “Call me back, okay?”

-x-

“Well, the car was stuck in the ditch, mud up to its axles, and the herd of goats scattered – I might’ve picked one off when I slid into the canal – and the farmer stops. That’s when I notice he’s got a rifle tucked in his arm. I grabbed my bag out of the back, hid in the field until he left, hoofed it back into town, and found a driver. Still caught my flight back to the states,” Casey chuckled softy, taking a long drink from a plastic cup. “The car’s probably still there.”

Amado laughed and got up from his seat on the bed to pour Casey another three fingers of scotch. “You’ve had some adventures in your travel.”

“Not really. That’s the extent of my so-called adventure, I’m afraid. Most of the time, the life of a planning specialist is rather boring.”

Casey bent forward in his seat and raised the cup Amado had refilled for him. When they left El Biberon an hour earlier, the men had made use of the liquor store next to the motel, picking up a bottle of scotch before Chavez led Casey to his ratty lodgings. The scotch wasn’t the premium stuff Casey usually sprung for, but the selection was meager, even for a dump like that. It didn’t help that there weren’t any proper glasses, and Casey told himself that it was the cheap plastic cups they had picked up in the dingy lobby that gave the booze an acidic taste in his mouth.

Okay, hell. There was a chance it wasn’t the cheap hooch making his throat burn.

After Chavez had flicked on one of the lamps, Casey was quick to sit in a wobbly pleather chair next to a small table. It was some distance from the bed, and let him survey the shit hole casually. The room was tacky: heavy striped drapes, brown carpeting, and a yellow and green abstract print bedspread that covered what looked to be a queen sized bed. 

God.

The motel had obviously been decorated when campy porn movies from the eighties were all the rage. If Casey wasn’t playing the guise of a lonely businessman looking for a no-strings hook-up, he would’ve laughed. Who would hit on a guy in a bar and bring him here? 

The NSA agent leaned back to sprawl his legs out in front of him, relieved at dodging the bullet of having to sit on the bed, and took another sip of his drink. This position worked. Because making Chavez really eyeball him, from his long limbs to the way the muscles on his upper arms flexed and rolled when he lifted the drink… well, the fucker had taken notice based upon the slippery smile on his mug.

“After tomorrow, I’ll be heading to San Pa –”

“Stand up,” Chavez told him, cutting in suddenly. Casey saw his eyes get smoky, darken. “Let me see you. God, you are tall…”

Stand up? Angling his head at the mark, Casey gazed at him curiously at first, pretending he was flustered by the … well, face it: it was an order. 

Dominant little prick, aren’t ya’?

With a small smile – astutely burying the scowl he wanted to pin on him – Casey tautened his shoulders and gradually climbed to his feet, straightening to his full height. “Yeah?” he said, injecting just a hint of a rasp in his tone. “What?”

“The shirt.” Amado sat up taller on the bed and fingered the rim of his cup, inspecting him with those vacant blue Larkin eyes. Lifting the drink to his mouth, he took a long swallow and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Take it off,” he ordered, scratchy. “I want to see you.”

Rocking back slightly on his heels in a play-act of self-consciousness, Casey bit down on his lip, considering his next step. “Alright,” he finally said, and grabbing the hem, he pulled the polo over his head and tossed it on the chair. 

Fuck. The agent had to dig deep as the consummate professional to not plug this little pinhead where he lay on the bed, with aqua eyes raking over his torso and bulging biceps. Amado’s mouth curved up in a smug smile.

“Huh. You sure as hell don’t look like a… what did you call it? A global –”

“… planning specialist,” Casey replied blandly, but a spurt of wariness threaded through his veins. Where was the turd going with this? A beat later, the loose smile on the mark’s face told him that it was simply a greasy form of flattery. Casey let it drip off. “I don’t like to fit the mold, I guess,” the agent remarked.

“Why don’t you come over here?” Chavez scooched back on the bedspread, eyeing him, wetting his bottom lip. “Come and … stand closer for me, will ya?”

“Oh?” Casey pretended to balk at first, then grinned at him and leisurely sauntered next to the bed. “Funny. A moment ago you could see me okay from over there,” he rumbled.

“If I wanted to just look, I would’ve left you at that dive,” Chavez smirked. “Besides, you want me to do this…”

Those razor sharp eyes. They had a way of dissecting him like a pair of rusty tweezers, violating him without touching his skin. Casey’s bare chest felt more than just exposed; it felt dirty, and he vowed to himself that when he got back to the motel, the first thing on the docket was a long hot shower. Twice. 

Focus.

“Is that so?” the agent asked.

“Yeah… Because, now I can...” and slipping two fingers into Casey’s waistband, Amado yanked him a step forward, closing the distance the agent had left between them. “Better,” Chavez murmured, scratching his fingernails lightly up Casey’s ribcage with his other hand. “Don’t you think?”

“N-not complaining,” Casey replied, sounding a little rattled. He knew the bastard would want to hear it that way. Make him feel controlling; silently touting a little power over him.

Sick son of a bitch. It took every ounce of the agent’s composure not to drive his fist through that wolfish smile staring up him.

Okay, don’t do it… focus… Chuck.

Letting his eyes drift shut, Casey drew a familiar image in his head. Blue eyes became brown, sleek black hair became a mess of coffee curls, a sly turn of the lips morphed to a crooked beam.

With no warning, Casey was jerked from his thoughts at the touch of a hand, intent on crawling up the seam along his inner thigh. His felt his throat close up. Chavez was on a hunt, and before the agent could slide a step backwards, the man cupped his length, strong fingers massaging him through the front of his jeans. 

“Mmmm… I wouldn’t want you to complain now, would I…” Amado whispered. Spreading his fingers wide, he applied an even, almost too rough pressure there with the crude way he crooked his fingers, stroking in and up along the bulge in Casey’s pants.

Chuck’s fingers… long, dexterous. The kid has a knack in the delicate handling of both small and large tools. Knows how to apply just the right amount of pressure. 

Casey emptied his mind of everything except a certain tall nerd, and in response, his body reflexively betrayed him – betrayed Chuck – by giving Chavez what he wanted to feel under his palm. 

And, to push this op to the brink of fucking unbearable, Casey’s nostrils were now assaulted with the scent of the man’s cologne, catching a whiff of wet moss and patchouli.

Chuck’s scent… clean soap…vanilla shampoo…

Another clutch with his palm made Casey suck in a breath, but Chavez took the hitch as a note of compliance and worked his hand up to the zipper. 

“Wh – Hey… go easy there, huh?” Casey interrupted hoarsely, glancing down at that roaming unwelcomed hand. Ease up on the siege, for fuck sakes. He latched onto Amado’s shoulders to get some leverage, digging his fingers into the flesh and pushing him backwards, away from the edge of the bed. “We’ve got time…”

“You’re a patient man,” Amado said, and Casey caught a whiff of the pungent alcohol and tobacco on his breath – right before he licked Casey’s lower abs, and then stopped to peer up at him again. “I like that. But me, I’m not wired that way.” He ran his other palm down Casey’s thigh, gripping and squeezing into the muscles along the path. “… I can see it, though… you’re curious what I have… you’ll let me in, right?” he whispered.

Casey would’ve choked with laughter at the lame-ass balls this guy was pitching… if it weren’t for those fingers. The ones that had been shoved an inch or two down the waistband of Casey’s jeans were making good use of their proximity to his belt. The strip of brown leather came off in one long drag, forcing Casey to pull his hips backwards against the brusque pull. Then, without missing a beat, Amado’s fingers went to work on the top button of his jeans.

Jesus. Casey had to rein in this stallion. Distract the little dick somehow. 

Use his first name. Get his attention.

“Andy,” he said in a soft drawl. “… Let me, okay?” Leaning over him, Casey moved his hands to Amado’s thighs and slid his warm palms along the outer seam of his pants, rubbing up and down a few times over his creased slacks.

Easy. Slow the fuck down….

Well, that move backfired in a spectacular blaze. In a blink, Chavez snaked a palm around the back of Casey’s neck and yanked his face close. His wet lips – and the fucker had been licking them nervously this whole time – locked onto Casey’s with a strength he wasn’t expecting; biting his bottom lip, nipping, pushing his tongue into the agent’s mouth, exploring in an assault that was dominating and deep. 

Chavez groaned, intoxicated by baring him, opening him up with a long forceful taste. But Casey encircled his wrist – the hand that had been on his top button was now jerking at the agent’s zipper – and held it stiffly, tugging it away from his waist. 

“What?” Amado was heaving breaths. “Is something … wrong? I thought this is what you wanted…soldier…”

“It is… yeah, it is,” Casey assured him, brushing his thumb gently through the saliva on Amado’s bottom lip. “But, let’s be fair here, right? You still look like you’re ready to go out for the night.” The realization that Casey was asking him to get undressed had to be a goddamn new experience for the mark, because Chavez stared up at the agent in confusion at first. He finally dropped the hand that was clinging to the back of Casey’s neck and began fumbling for the buttons of his shirt. 

“I thought I was giving the orders,” the mark smirked but kept at his own buttons, working his way down. 

“Oh, you will…” When the last was undone, Casey dragged the shirt over Amado’s shoulders and tossed it on the bed. “I just want to start with an even score.”

“And, I like to play with an advantage, so let’s start on these next.” Chavez managed to wrestle his hand loose and tug on Casey’s zipper again. 

“You’re in a hurry. Let me… do this…” Sweeping his calloused palms down Amado’s biceps gave Casey the fleeting side benefit of controlling the other man’s arms.

“You wanna touch me, huh…” Chavez said, a little sly.

“Yeah,” Casey confirmed softly. To prove his point, he massaged the mark’s shoulders, splaying his large fingers over the man’s chest, and let his eyes drift down to a thin silver chain he wore, a round pendant nested in the hollow between his pecs. “…I want to do this…”

“Okay,” Chavez nuzzled his face into Casey’s chest, breathing in deeply, and leaned back on the mattress. “Why don’t you… do what you like. What you want to do… I’ll watch.” 

“Is that your… order?” the agent asked with an air of innocence, kneading the warm bare skin on the back of Amado’s neck. 

“Yeah. Do it.”

“Yes… sir.” 

Reaching behind his back, his knuckles tightened on the handle of the SIG and it was leveled in front of him in a flash. Before Chavez could sit up or even open his damn mouth again, the blast put a crater where his ribcage had been a mere heartbeat ago. Blood stained the wall behind him in a monochromatic canvas of crimson red, splattered like a child’s finger painting. Casey eyed it, before looking down at Chavez, sprawled in the mattress with his head lolled sideways on the pillow. 

“Heh. That’s what I’ve wanted to do,” he said, stuffing the gun back in his pants. 

The silencer had muffled the SIG, but the racket was still a hell of bit much, and Casey kicked it into high gear before unwanted company made an appearance. Grabbing his shirt off of the chair, he shrugged it back on, and tossed the messenger bag over his shoulder.

For what had to be the eighth time tonight, the agent felt the burner vibrating in his back pocket. Sorry, kid. 

He ignored it.

Moving quickly, Casey tugged the silver chain over Amado’s head and held it up in front of his ice-blue eyes. A shiny disk hung from the clasp, etched with interconnected circles. The Core. It was smaller than he had expected, but hell, it was no surprise what those damn nerds could store on a micro chip this size. 

“Dumbass,” Casey grunted, as he pulled the chain on and tucked it in his shirt. “Around your fucking neck? That was the best you could do?” 

Shaking his head in disgust, the agent rounded the corner into the tiny bathroom and grabbed a towel that had been flung over the shower rod. The final, yet crucial, act was to remove any evidence that an operative of the US government was involved in this ‘unfortunate incident’. Casey wiped down the surfaces he had touched, shoved the bottle and cup into the bag, and carefully stepped around the growing pool of ruby-colored blood soaking the carpet. 

Hell, these were his decent shoes, after all. 

The last thing he did was toss a sheet over the body. No sense on the cleaning lady finding that morbid little surprise, he thought. Maybe the smell will tip her off in a few days. Then, staring into the man’s doll-like eyes, he tapped his cheek once for good measure. 

“Sorry you couldn’t watch,” Casey muttered, and walked out without looking back.

-x-

“General Beckman.” The young agent assigned to Major Casey’s transport stood outside the Gulfstream at Guapiles airfield. He adjusted his sunglasses on his nose and then swiped the sweat off the back of his neck. 

“You have news for me, I hope.”

“Yes, ma’am. The mission was a success. Major Casey was able to recover the Core. It’s already safely secured in the aircraft.

“Where is the major?”

“He’s… ah… Major Casey is in the… ah.”

“Spit it out, Agent Donovan.”

“He’s using the facilities here at the airfield to change his clothes, ma’am. They were a little… well, there was a lot of blood –”

“Where’s Chavez? Is he in custody?”

“Well, ma’am.” The agent swallowed hard. Delivering bad news to a superior was an unpleasant task, especially for a junior officer. “I believe the mark is dead, general.” 

“I see. Get the Core to Washington. Now, Agent Donovan.”

-x-

The general disconnected the call and sat back in her leather chair, her forehead creased in contemplation. Reaching over her desk, she moved the brass eagle paperweight perched at the corner and pulled out a yellowed, dog-eared folder that was underneath it. Opening it up, she scanned the photo of her agent; a somewhat younger John Casey, though the iron features and cool blue eyes were ever-present.

“Well, major. Another successful mission on your record.” She paused, glancing out her window at the Capital Building awash with light this time of night. “But the Human Intersect and the 49b… that is a different matter entirely.”

-x-End Chapter Four-x-


	5. Chapter Five

Casey vs. Human Elements 

Chapter Five

-x-

“Tell me, can I access the NSA secure database from this aircraft, agent?”

“Of course, sir. This Gulfstream has state of the art satellite communications; encryption, masked proxies –”

Chrissakes. Nerds. “If I wanted the geek porn, I woulda asked for the fucking user manual, which I’m sure you have stuffed back there somewhere. Just bring me a damn laptop.”

“Uh…” The young agent blinked at Casey but quickly recovered. “Yes, sir.” Darting down the narrow aisle of the plane, he ducked into a cubby in the aft galley.

Casey watched him leave, then tipped his head back against the leather seat and rubbed his eyes. His body was reminding him that he had been up for twenty hours straight, and the job had drained him dry. Glimpsing at his watch, the agent saw that it was already well past midnight in Burbank. No sense calling this late, he told himself. 

Shit. 

Now’s not the time, but make an appointment in the near future to pinpoint the moment this happened: since when is John Casey a fucking Coward? Hasn’t he done things harder than this? Trapped in a cargo freight container for three days. Check. Thrown from a moving train outside of Calcutta. Been there, done that. Injected by neurotoxins. Got that one covered, too.

But leaving Chuck high and dry tonight? It sliced through him like a jagged blade. Made him want to kill that little sleaze Chavez again, make him suffer more. It was too quick.

Closing his eyes, Casey could picture the scenario. The wedding party had left Mario’s by now, doling out hugs in anticipation of tomorrow – wait, today, because it was officially Saturday. But, hell, that image playing in his mind wasn’t the worst of it. Not by a long shot. It was the look he could see as the kid put on a brave face for the family tonight. Chuck would’ve been wearing his only decent suit not provided by the government. Making his excuses and apologies for Casey’s painfully obvious absence. Having to tell the waiter they would need one less seat at the table. One less dinner guest to fuss over. 

And underneath that fake-happy expression would be a chasm of ache. Hurt that he put there. With the help of the DNI, of course. 

“Agent Casey? Here’s the laptop you requested.” The young man folded down the tray and placed it in front of the major. A steaming mug of black coffee was set next to it. Casey raised his brow in question at the next item being passed to him. A white napkin that had been dipped in warm water.

“What’s this?”

“Uh… sir, you still have a little…” The agent pointed to his neck and nodded at Casey hesitantly. 

Blood. Casey thought he had washed it off in the poorly lit bathroom back at the hangar, but apparently his neck was still colored with the evidence of tonight’s op. Wiping his neck and hands again just because he felt stains that he couldn’t see, Casey crumpled up the napkin and handed it off to the kid. Turning, the man started to leave, but the older NSA agent stopped him.

“Agent.”

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s your name?”

“Agent Donovan, sir. Can I… get you something else?”

Okay, so he had been a prick to this young officer. Not all of them were a pack of McClures.

“Donovan, huh?” He shifted his eyes to the laptop and coffee. “Thanks.”

The young agent beamed. “Major Casey, it’s an… honor, really sir, to be part of your crew and I hope –”

Casey grunted. “You still here talkin’, Donovan?”

The smile was wiped clean. “No, sir. Leaving right now, sir.”

Heh. Still gotta show the little ass-kissers who the top dog is.

-x-

It took him some scrolling and searching, but a few hours later, just as the sun painted pink and orange brushstrokes across the eastern sky outside his portal window, Casey closed the laptop and signaled to Donovan from across the aisle. 

“Yes, sir?”

“Here.” The NSA agent handed the young man a piece of paper. “Revised flight data. Give that to the co-pilot and have them radio the control tower when we cross the sector.”

“What is this?”

“Our new coordinates. MCLB Airfield. Have an SUV waiting for me,” Casey told him, handing him the empty coffee cup. “Your job is to get the device back to DC. This is my stop.”

“Yes… sir. But,” Agent Donovan turned to him with a puzzled look, “re-routing the aircraft? On whose authority, sir?”

“Mine. The major,” Casey said, his tone warning the man not to argue. “You got an issue? Take it up the chain.”

Donovan stared at him wide-eyed before examining the paper. “Roger that, sir,” he confirmed, wary, but he hustled towards the cockpit.

The NSA had fucked them over good, but this time? They were coming to the damn table. Casey would make sure of it. For the first time in four days, the corner of his mouth curved up in a smile.

-x-

Surprisingly, the orders didn’t get fucked-up or lost in translation – this was the government at work, after all – and a gleaming black Tahoe was parked next to the airfield management facility with a full tank of gas. The G-man suit he had changed into after the assignment in Cartago, and the fact that he had re-routed the flight for an unspecified purpose, caused a few looks of curiosity from the pilot as he disembarked the plane. Flashing his badge, Casey strode past the uniformed soldiers that had met the aircraft and climbed into the driver’s seat of the SUV. 

“Major Casey.” Agent Donovan rounded the corner of the building and trotted to the side of the SUV. Casey lowered the window. “What should I tell General Beckman?”

The muscles in his jaw twitched. Casey bit his tongue, lest he tell the young agent to inform the general she could go fuck herself. Respectfully, of course.

“Tell her I’m assuming the role of my cover before its blown wide open. I’m heading back to Burbank.” After a side trip that she doesn’t need to know about.

“Uh, Burbank, sir?”

“And tell her I’ll be providing a report-out of my mission tomorrow.” 

“She may wonder why you –”

Jesus. This one doesn’t know when to shut the hell up. “Do your job, agent. Get back to DC with the microchip – without screwing it up.” Not waiting for the man to sputter out another question, Casey threw it in gear and headed for the gate.

-x-

The air was stale and humid, recycled through the vents of the vehicle’s air conditioning unit. Casey sniffed the unpleasant draft and cracked the window, eyeing the sun baked earth and shimmering heat rolling up from the asphalt, even this early in the day.

In his career, the agent had lived in remote, desolate places, with dry brown rolling hills, and dirt track roads that led to destinations no one wanted to find.

But, then, there was this place. 

Fuck.

Who the hell would live here?

The last sign of civilization, and hey, only if Walmart falls into that category, was thirty miles back in a shit-hole town with two traffic lights and a diner. Oh yeah, and three bars. Heavy mind-numbing drinking would be required, living out here.

Casey had prepared himself for several possible sketches. The man could be one of those oddities, a loner, or maybe a scavenger who compulsively collected colored glass jars or antique typewriters, filling each room of his house to crowd out an emptiness in his soul. There was a chance he was an addict, God knows what drug leeching life from his body, or an alcoholic, using booze to sop up the guilt that had to have eaten away at him.

But here it was. Just like the NSA database had indicated. The Airstream trailer looked like an odd alien spacecraft that sprouted up on the landscape of the windblown hills. Climbing out of the SUV, Casey strode up to the rounded motor home and rapped his knuckles on the unpainted aluminum door. Shooting a look to the side, he noticed the awning window was tilted open and a beater car was parked out back, so he told himself the man had to be stashed in there.

Casey knocked again. There was still no answer, only the rush of wind buffeting the leaves and gnarled branches of an oak at the bottom of the hill. He briefly considered kicking in the door, but common sense told him to check the knob first. And, hell, it wasn’t locked, so he pushed the metal door open cautiously and peered inside. 

A birch wood cabinet kitchenette was on the left, and to the right was a plaid couch and a small table. Two gold framed, hinged photos sat at a corner of an end table, and Casey picked them up to study the snapshots. 

One was a faded picture, a gangly Chuck, about nine or ten years old, holding a baseball bat and posing for the camera. The other was young Ellie in the same pose, though her expression told him she was getting ready to beat the piss out of the ball. 

Setting down the frames, the clock over the sofa caught his attention. Eleven a.m. Three and a half hours to Burbank if he set land speed records. Six hours until Ellie Bartowski needed the arm of that man slung through hers to escort her down the aisle of the church.

“Wh-who the hell are you?” 

Casey spun to face a man wearing a dull grey sweater over a flannel shirt, standing in the cramped hallway that led from the back bedroom. It was ironic that the crazy professor get-up was complete with a worn baseball bat, which was now clumsily wielded in the air over Casey’s head.

“Jesus,” Casey grumbled, raising his palm to easily swipe it out of his grip. “Put that down. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Answer the question.”

“NSA,” Casey said, and the agent saw the older man tense as he reached into his black suit jacket. “Easy, easy, old man. Federal agent. I’m just getting my badge.”

The man’s eyes quickly scanned the credentials before gazing up at him. “What do you want, John Casey?” he asked in a tone of distrust, his eyes darting out the window towards the road. “And, how did you find me?”

Casey ignored him, and wordlessly, he faced off with the confused mussy-haired man, sizing him up. Deep hazel eyes. Dark hair. Not too tall, so maybe the kid’s mom was the Amazon in the gene pool. But, yeah, there’s some of that flaky-Polish-edgy resemblance hidden under those craggy features. 

Satisfied, he folded his arms over his chest and squinted at Stephen Bartowski.

“Pack your shit,” Casey growled. “You’re coming with me.” 

-x-

“Please explain to me again why we had to conduct the briefing in Castle today of all days? Why it was necessary to inconveniently intrude on my life the day of my sister’s wedding? Because I gotta tell you, I have a million things to do before the ceremony.” Chuck gave the man a dirty look. “We need to get going, McClure.”

“Do you have to act like a nervous school girl, for fuck sakes?” McClure griped. “We’re here because, asset, I’ve been waiting all week to get some time alone with this.”

Chuck’s eyes widened in shock when he saw what the agent intended with this. “Uh, I would not touch that if I were you.”

“Why the hell not, nerd boy? It’s belongs to the US government, doesn’t it?” McClure sneered, making no move stop.

“No, no, no, no … that’s where you’re wrong. Everything else here,” Chuck waved his arms, “is property of Uncle Sam, but that belongs to Major Casey. He’s the only one who can touch it.”

“Really, now? The major is that possessive about his toys, huh. Thinks it’s all his?” Now, McClure sounded more eager. “Mmmm, always wanted to get my hands on one of these bad boys,” he hummed.

“Seriously?! He won’t even let me touch it! He’s afraid I’ll shoot him in the eye or somewhere else he would rather not get hit. And, look! Right there along the shaft. You left a fingerprint! You don’t think Casey is going to notice that? As soon as he strips it, he’s going to know an interloper had his meat hooks all over his baby!”

The lieutenant stared icily at the kid. “You’re taking all the enjoyment out of this with the squawking, asset. If you don’t sit there, shut your pie hole and let me do this, we’re going to make a little trip to one of those holding cells back there. Capiche?”

Chuck ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes trained on McClure’s hands. “You know what? You were adequately warned. So, have fun with it, play with it, do whatever you want. But,” and he glimpsed down at Casey’s GAU-17/A minigun, nestled in its case, “in the next day, Casey’s going to know someone touched it, or worse yet, fired it without his authority.”

“So?” The agent didn’t bother looking up as he ran his fingers over the smooth surface, swishing his thumb back and forth a few times. “What’s he gonna do?” he added, his lips twitching into a sarcastic grin.

“Can I ask you a question?”

McClure set down the small case of linked ammo he had just grabbed and eyed him suspiciously. “What?”

“Have you ever met Major Casey? You know, in person?”

“No. Why?”

“Oh.” The kid’s eyes tracked to Casey’s armory and back to the Lieutenant. “No reason,” Chuck smirked.

-x-

“Chuck, where have you been? The ceremony is in two hours and fourteen minutes. You just disappeared this morning?”

“God, Ellie. I’m so sorry.” Chuck laid the black garment bag, holding his tuxedo, over one of the dining chairs. “There was… an emergency… at the store and they needed me.”

“Speaking of emergencies: Ellie dear, have you seen the Ceremony Crisis Kit?” Honey Woodcomb poked her head from around the corner of the bathroom. “I need to triple check that the needle and thread and spare nude panty-hose didn’t get left out.”

“No, no. You stay where you are Ellie. I think the kit is packed in the trunk already,” Woody told her, setting down a glass of milk and grabbing the car keys. “I’m on it.” 

Ellie stiffened, turning to her baby brother. ‘Help me,’ she mouthed. 

“Uh… Honey… the Crisis Kit? Is it about so long,” Chuck stammered, holding up his hands about a foot apart, “and pink with little flowers on the bag? I think I saw it in the carport, on the ledge, which would mean its most definitely not in the trunk. And, you know, Woody being a man and all, might not see –”

“Dammit,” she muttered before Chuck could finish. Her kitten heels clacked over the hardwood floors as she scurried for the front door, disappearing in a flash of mauve silk. “I’ll stop him.” 

Ellie waited until she was out of earshot. “Oh, God. Chuck, I don’t know if I can –”

“I’ll take care of the well-intentioned yet horribly oppressive Doctors Woodcomb, Ellie. You just go… do… you know, whatever things you need to do.” Chuck smiled lamely and grabbed the garment bag. “Where’s Devon, anyway?”

“He stayed with his brothers at the hotel last night. Bad luck to see the bride, you know,” she added, rolling her eyes in the direction of the door. “So, Honey and Woody stayed here. To ‘assist me’.

“Did I tell you I’m sorry? I should’ve been here to run interference for you. But no worries, sis, I’ll take care of everything, okay?” Chuck forced a wide grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, I should start getting –”

“Wait. Not so fast,” Ellie latched onto his arm as Chuck tried to dodge past her. “Casey? Have you heard from him? Chuck, is he going to be here?”

The kid winced, bracing himself for the bitter disappointment he would see reflecting in her eyes. Turning to face her, Chuck took a deep breath. “Ellie, I haven’t heard from him.”

“What?!”

Staring at his sister, he swallowed down the lump that had swelled in his throat. “Now, before you freak out, he must’ve gotten … well, it’s the military, El. You know things can change, and maybe they needed him there for something… important.”

“More important than this? And why would he not even call you?” She searched his face, with a sheen of moisture now gleaming in her eyes. “He knows the wedding is in a few hours.”

Chuck glanced down at his shoes. Better to not let her see his face, to hide the stab of pain. “If there’s a training exercise, you know, a simulation, then maybe he can’t find a way to – oof!”

Before he could go on, the air was pushed out of his lungs as Ellie wrapped him in a bear hug. 

“God, what is wrong with me? I’m so sorry, baby brother. Here I am, putting you through the inquisition, when you must be going through… well, we know Casey has issues, and you’re hurting, I know, but I promise that when I get back from the honeymoon, I’ll –”

“…Ellie, I can’t breathe…”

“Oh!” The vise grip slackened and she took a step backwards. “Sorry, again,” she said, her brows bunched up in concern. “But, are you okay?”

“Listen, El.” Chuck loosened his Buy More tie and tucked the garment bag under his arm. “I’m fine.” Lying to her for the thousandth time wasn’t easier than the first time. It still forced heat to crawl up his neck and his stomach to constrict. “I need to get ready.” Nodding, he didn’t exactly sprint down the hallway before she could stop him again, but it was close.

Closing his bedroom door, Chuck leaned against it and blew out sigh. “Casey, what the hell?” he whispered to himself. “Where are you?” 

God.

Okay, one thing at a time, he told himself, setting the garment bag down. Unzipping it, Chuck carefully removed the black tuxedo and the ice blue cummerbund, and draped them over the back of his desk chair. Then, falling into his old bed, the kid stretched out and stared up at the ceiling. 

That asshole McClure had dragged him – literally – out of bed at 6:10 a.m., schlepping him to Castle for the morning briefing, and Chuck knew he needed to get some rest before facing everyone tonight. The kid cocked his head towards his alarm clock, figuring he could sneak in a twenty minute nap before hopping in the shower. 

“Screw you, McClure.” Raising his middle finger towards the security camera in the corner – Ha, he was fairly certain McClure hadn’t resolved the audio issues yet – Chuck threw his forearm over his eyes, and sunk into the pillow. After a few minutes, he felt his consciousness spilling into the rippling pool between wakefulness and sleep.

A low scraping noise jostled the kid from the warm darkness. How long had it been? Ten minutes? An hour? No, Ellie would’ve roused him. 

There it was again – a familiar scuffing of a heel on the window frame, and the soft padding of feet on the floorboards. 

Oh, crap. Morgan was the second to last person he wanted to explain Casey’s mysterious absence to on the day of his sister’s wedding. 

“Buddy,” Chuck said blearily, “it’s been a long day already, and we haven’t even started, so five more minutes, okay?”

Instead of the onslaught of burbling questions and chatter he predicted, there was an uncomfortable silence. Shifting his arm, Chuck opened one eye to a slit, peeking out towards the window.

“I don’t …what….” The kid bolted up on both elbows, brown eyes blown wide. “Dad?”

“Hello, Charles.”

It took several tries to find his voice. When he did, he wasn’t sure it was his. This was one shaky, rough as grit. 

“You… you said you couldn’t be here today,” he blurted out. “It would be too dangerous. You told me Orion was being tracked, hunted by the government, remember?” Chuck’s eyes swept over him, afraid that if he blinked or looked away, the blurry phantasm would vanish out the open window. 

“Uh, son, you may not want to –”

“Oh my God, it is you though….” Springing out of bed, Chuck finally blinked and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, but the apparition was still standing by his TV, wearing a sweater, faded jeans, and carrying a leather duffle. “Is it safe? Wait! Does this mean the Intersect testing –”

Out of the corner of his eye, Chuck caught a movement at the window, and he turned his head, dropping the blanket. The mid-afternoon sunlight filtering through the window was now blocked by a figure that took up most of the space in the opening. 

“C-Casey?” 

The agent stood stock still at the window frame, his bulky arms crossed over his chest, and his black suit jacket bunched up around his wide shoulders. He murmured something too quiet for Chuck to make out, but in the time it took for the kid’s blood to rush to his ears, Casey’s expression transformed from a spark of anticipation to something else entirely.

The kid had a flare of panic.

Because now? His boyfriend was back…

and oh, John Casey was pissed.

“Did you say... Intersect testing?” Casey seethed.

“Oh, crap,” Chuck replied. That was Casey’s ‘rip someone’s head off’ face, and it was aimed directly at him. Sucking in a sharp breath, the kid took a step back towards the bed as Casey climbed through the window, his stormy blue eyes never wavering from Chuck’s face. 

“What the hell did you just say, Bartowski?” Casey growled with enough menace to make grown men – specifically, a tall lanky man – shudder. “Orion? The Intersect?”

“Uh…” Chuck spluttered, deciding to play the clueless card. “Welcome back?”

“And you.” Rounding on Stephen Bartowski, Casey took one threatening step in his direction. “We were on the road for three and half hours together. Don’t you think something like this would’ve come up in the goddamn conversation? You’re Orion?”

“Casey, wait. I can explain everything.”

“Oh,” Casey’s jaw clenched and this time he rounded on Chuck. “You’re damn right you will, kid. Starting now.” 

“You see, I was …” Chuck cut a glance over his shoulder to his workstation, cringing when he locked eyes with Casey again. “Well, I kinda built a search engine, a net I guess, to find Orion, and –”

“Son of a bitch, I don’t believe this. You did what? Without telling me –”

“It sounds… bad, when you put it in that context, I know, but hear me out on this –” Chuck’s hands shot up defensively in front of him, and he discreetly slid his heel back, putting some distance between himself and the heat radiating off of Casey. 

“Hear you out? Is that what you just said, Intersect?” the agent bit off. “‘Cause I just bet you’ve got an explanation stuffed under that fluffy mop head of yours.”

Okay, so the relationship had evolved past the stage of Casey throttling him for acts of ‘idiocy’, but this scary-incensed version of Casey was eyeing him as if he wanted to fold Chuck up like an army tent, stuff him in the trunk of a Nerd Herder, and drive it off a cliff. 

Oh, no. 

“Listen, Casey, I can explain –” he started, and at the same time, pointed his most potent weapon at Casey: an appeasing, crooked grin. 

Casey gave him a black look in return. “Fuck no, you don’t,” he sneered. “You can just wipe that right off because it’s not gonna work this time, kid.” The agent’s strong fingers slid around his wrist, pressed in tight, and he tugged the kid close enough for their knees and hips to bump. Chuck tried to back up, but Casey held on, pinning his arm down to his side.

And, if smoldering resentment could burn the skin, Chuck knew he’d be scorched to cinders by now. 

“Casey, I –” Chuck began, firing up his side of the story one more time. “I didn’t think it would –”

“Wait a minute.” One look at his son’s rattled expression and the beefy hand clamped down on Chuck’s wrist had Stephen Bartowski dropping his duffle and stepping closer. “Let go of him. My son only did what he could to protect himself. The NSA doesn’t give a damn about his –”

“D-dad?”

The three men spun in unison towards the door and the sound of Ellie’s strangled voice.

“Oh.” Her father stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching his daughter at the threshold. “Hello, Eleanor.”

The temperature in the room plummeted, coating it in a thick and icy condensation. Chuck attempted to pull his arm away from Casey’s grip – no luck there – and he frowned at him before slanting a look at his sister. He mustered up a strained smile.

“Ellie, aren’t you going to say… something?” 

Ellie’s mouth dropped open just barely, but only a choking noise came out at first. She cleared her throat. “Girl scouts,” she whispered.

“Wh-what?” Chuck asked, darting a look between his dad and his sister. “What does that mean?”

“Uh-oh,” the kid heard his dad mutter.

The only positive that Chuck could distinguish so far in this spectacularly thorny family reunion, was that at the utterance of ‘girl scouts’, Casey groaned quietly and dropped Chuck’s arm, backing up towards the dresser.

“You… you were supposed to be there that night. I was crossing the bridge to become an Ambassador Girl Scout.” Ellie’s voice was tinged with a sharp-edged bitterness. “Do you know what it was like? How it felt to cross the bridge without either of my parents there, when all the other girls had a mom or a dad or grandparents to watch? What did I have? My gawky fifteen year old brother! No offense, Chuck.”

“None taken.”

“My brother – who was trying to hide his own hurt… and trying to make me feel better!” 

“Oh boy,” Stephen Bartowski said quietly.

“Ellie, I –” Chuck cut in, dragging his fingers through his dark curls, “… maybe we should –”

“No. Sorry… sorry, Chuck.” Pivoting on her heel, Ellie fled down the hall towards her bedroom. The two Bartowski men let out groans when they heard the hollow thud of the door closing behind her. 

Casey pinched the bridge of his nose and kept quiet. 

“Oh God,” the kid mumbled. Frowning in the direction of the empty doorway for a moment, Chuck turned to the other two men. “Well, that was… it could’ve gone better, hmm?”

His father looked away, towards the window, running a hand through his tousled hair in a way that mirrored his son’s quirky habit. He had turned ashen when Ellie launched into her speech and the ruddy color hadn’t returned to his cheeks.

“And, you.” Licking his lips nervously, Chuck stepped in front of the agent and reluctantly grabbed Casey’s wrist. “I know you’re mad at me… and you have every right to be.”

“Goddamn right I am.” Casey’s eyes burned a hole in him with a look that told Chuck he wanted to shake the kid for withholding secrets. “How long has this been going on behind my back, eh, Bartowski?” 

“Wait a damn minute.” Orion glared at Casey and waved him off. “Charles had every right to contact me –”

“Dad, uh… maybe you don’t want to get involved in this particular discussion. You see…”

Chuck ran his hand up Casey’s forearm, over the smooth cloth of his suit, past his elbow until he clutched onto his bicep. Eyeing him closely, the kid wrinkled his nose at the scowl Casey was still wearing. “By the way, it’s good to see you too.” Before Casey could gripe at him again, Chuck leaned in and locked his lips to Casey’s, tentative and soft at first until he was sure Casey wasn’t going to push him away. 

He didn’t. Okay, there was a throaty deep noise that startled the kid, but he cupped the agent’s stubbly jaw in his hand, and pressed in. More insistent and firm, giving him the warmth and taste of his mouth with an ask of forgiveness. After a few seconds, Chuck felt him relax, and smooth, safe strokes of Casey’s hand coasted down his back. Slowly, the kid broke the contact and pulled away, glancing over his shoulder sheepishly at his father.

“Dad… there’s probably something I need to tell you. Um, later on? We need to talk.” 

Stephen Bartowski continued to stare at both of them for a long half minute. “I…” he began awkwardly, picking up his duffle again. “Uh, yes, Charles. We’ll… talk.”

Chuck blushed at his father before facing Casey again. Sweeping the pad of his thumb over his boyfriend’s cheek one more time, the kid was pleased to see the scowl had faded somewhat. “And you want to discuss this with me, too. I know, I know,” Chuck said, resigned, and he inched closer towards the door. “But, right now, I need to talk to Ellie.”

Casey narrowed his eyes at Chuck, but eventually, he nodded. ‘”Go fix this with her and then get your ass back in here. Got that?”

“Yes, sir. I missed you too, Casey.” The kid rolled his eyes, and started for the door, but he put on the brakes. “And one more thing. I’m not exactly sure how you did this, bringing my dad here,” Chuck tilted his head towards his father, now standing off to the side studying Chuck’s computer, “but, are you freaking nuts?! Why didn’t you call? A surprise of this magnitude?”

“Oh, hell.” Casey folded his arms over his chest in self-defense. “It was supposed to be a wedding present. But three Bartowskis in the equation? Why did I not know this wasn’t going to end well?”

The kid frowned at the barb to his genetic heritage, but kept his trap closed, figuring he had a deep enough hole to dig out of already. “You. Both,” he said, pointing from man one to the other. “Stay here.”

Stephen Bartowski waited until Chuck had left the room. Turning to Casey, he raised an inquisitive brow at the larger man. “Huh. We were on the road for… what? Three and half hours together, you said? Was there anything, maybe, that you wanted to tell me during that time?”

Casey glanced down at him and shrugged, using his thumbnail to work at a smudge on his sunglasses. 

“Your son is my boyfriend.”

Orion blinked at the agent a few times. Casually, his eyes roved down Casey’s long legs, and back up to his chest and shoulders, canvassing every inch of the man.

“Oh, I see,” Chuck’s father said. “Alright, then.”

-x-  
-x-

“Chuck, thank God.” Honey’s heels skidded to a stop, and she caught his arm as he closed his bedroom door. “We were able to recover the Ceremony Crisis Kit. But, have you seen Woody’s tuxedo shoes?”

“Uh… no?”

“Dammit,” the blonde muttered under her breath, swinging around and heading back towards the living room. “Can you –”

“Sorry, uh, Honey… I have something else I need to, uh… Be right with you.” The plastered-on grin only twitched a little, and Honey was too agitated by the vanishing shoes to notice.

“Oh, wait! That reminds me.” She snapped a pink manicured fingernail. “We must’ve left them in the… well, odd classic vehicle you borrowed to pick us from the airport. Do you have the keys?” 

“Of course. Here.” He fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them to her. A beat later, Chuck pretended to be overcome with a coughing fit, which drowned out the low growl emanating from behind his bedroom door. 

She nodded and started to turn. “Oh, one more thing.” Honey studied the fob. “Which button unlocks the trunk? Is it this –”

“Ah… no, no. This one.” Naturally, Chuck was thankful he had disabled the missile guided rocket launcher.

“Thanks, Chuck.” Fisting the keys, Honey spun around and hurried to the door. Chuck wondered deep down how she did that without her perfectly coiffed locks budging at all. 

“Here goes,” he said under his breath. Facing his sister’s door, he heaved a huge sigh and knocked lightly. Then, Chuck bent forward to listen for the okay to enter.

“Go away.”

Or that. 

“El, it’s me.”

“Well, who else would it be?” Chuck picked out sarcasm blended with dark amusement in Ellie’s tone. “Would it be Casey wanting to talk about this?”

“Point. Can I come in?”

After a long pause, Chuck heard the sound of the mattress creaking. “I guess.”

Poking his head in, the kid strolled inside and closed the door quietly behind him. His sister was stretched out on her stomach, resting her chin in her hands, and staring blankly in front of her. 

No, not blankly…her hazel eyes where focused on the ivory silk dress, draped over the chair in the corner.

Chuck pressed his lips together, watching her before taking a seat on the floor next to the bed. And he waited.

“I thought I wanted him here,” she finally said. “All along, you tried to find him – track him down – but now that he’s here… I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t ready… in a way, I still hate him.”

There was a catch in her voice that sent a pang through him, and the kid regarded her with a wan smile. “Ellie, I wish all of this could have been different. Our parents. You having to raise a dumb little brother on your own. It’s not though. This is what it is, and luckily, we’ve always had each other. But, for one day, we have a chance to be a normal family again.” He glanced at the dress and stretched his hands out pleadingly. “Do you really want to throw that away?” 

It was too quiet for a minute, too much time to think about how they got here… about Ellie leaving a night class to meet him at the train station the day he got kicked out of school. It was raining, he remembered that. Not hard; the kind of drizzle that doesn’t let up, soaks you beneath the skin. 

Too much time to think about the cocker spaniel she gave him for his birthday. The one to replace his dad.

Still too quiet.

Chuck shook his head. “Ellie?”

Another minute had ticked by until she crinkled her brow, angling her head to peer at him. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

Ellie’s eyes drifted over his face, pursing her lips in a weak smile.

“My little brother… He’s not so dumb after all.”

-x-

“Dad?”

He didn’t remember his old bedroom ever feeling this stuffy, but normally, it wasn’t standing-room only. Stephen Bartowski was sitting on the window sill, and Casey was leaning against his desk, arms folded over his chest. The two men looked as if they hadn’t moved or spoken, but the agent turned and squinted at the kid as he cautiously entered the room.

Unfortunately, Chuck noted, the pissed off look had found its way back. 

“Uh, there you are.”

“Where did you think we were?” Casey grumbled. “Testing the Intersect?”

“Still angry, I see.” Chuck rolled his eyes and walked past him. Opening his closet, he dug towards the back and pulled out a navy blue suit and light blue shirt. “I saved it,” he said, holding it up for his father. “Can you, uh, will you be able to wear this?”

Stephen Bartowski clung to his duffle like a safety shield. “Does she want me to?”

“Yes, yes, she does….so please… put it on. And you.” Chuck turned to Casey and wrapped his hand around the agent’s sizable fist. “Ellie wants to see you. Come on.”

Casey didn’t budge. “About what?” he muttered, his rooted feet causing Chuck to stumble backwards as he tried to pull Casey towards the door.

“I have no idea, but she said to bring you so… oh.” Chuck almost let go of Casey’s hand when he saw the look on his boyfriend’s face. Then, a realization smacked him in the forehead. “Waaaait… are you …afraid of my sister?” The kid bit his lip, but it didn’t stop the lopsided grin from sliding onto his face. “Because, she’s not going to bite you, big guy. She just wants to… well, talk.”

“Sonuvabitch.” Casey yanked his hand back. “Why don’t you just send me back to Gadhafi's camps, Bartowski. Less torture.”

Snatching his hand again, Chuck pulled him towards the door. “Move it, buster. She’s waiting.”

Reluctantly, Casey let himself get towed along. “This is your fault. Don’t fucking forget it.”

-x-

Ellie was standing next to the dresser when the two men entered the room. “Hey… guys.” She gestured for them to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Go,” Chuck ordered against Casey’s ear and shoved him lightly, propelling him into the room. “Hey, Ellie, look who’s here… I told you we could count on him.”

“Ellie,” John said. 

Awkward, Chuck thought.

“John,” Ellie replied. 

Oh, somehow, even more awkward.

The mattress dipped under their weight as they took a seat, and Ellie moved to stand in front of them.

“Here.” She held out an object in front of Casey’s face.

Casey studied the blue and cream colored box suspiciously, not attempting to take it from her. “What… is that?”

“Uh, Casey…” Chuck tried not to sound too horrified by Casey’s reaction. “I think Ellie is giving you a gift of some sort, based upon the wrapping on the box. Is that right, El?” Veering his head sideways, he whispered into Casey’s ear, “Take it or I cut you off for a month.”

“Eh…” Casey narrowed his eyes at Chuck and reached for the brightly papered box. “Thank you.”

Putting her hands on her hips, Ellie watched him expectantly. After an interminable silence, it became obvious he had no idea what to do next.

“Casey?” Ellie said carefully. “Open the package.”

“Yeah, Casey, open it.” Chuck nudged him with an elbow.

Casting his eyes between one Bartowski sibling to the other, Casey made a soft ‘hmm’ noise and gradually ripped away at the paper until a tan leather box was revealed. He set the wrapping paper on his lap and gave Chuck a fleeting look before flipping the lid open.

Inside was a brushed stainless steel watch with chunky links and a silver face. Masculine and understated, but elegant at the same time. Casey looked up at Ellie. “I don’t understand.”

“John,” she said quietly. “Last night, at the restaurant, we gave out the gifts to the wedding party. That’s you, you know. These watches were for the groomsmen, but since… you weren’t able to be with us, I wanted you to have it before the wedding.”

“It’s…” Casey raised his fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. 

“Nice,” Chuck jumped in. “He means it’s nice and he really likes it. Thanks, El.”

“Look at the engraving,” Ellie suggested with a smile. “I wanted it to be…well, special. For you.”

Casey loosened the watch from the box and pulled it out, turning it over to inspect the casing. He read it to himself and looked up at Ellie with an unreadable expression before stuffing it back in the carton. 

“Wait!” Ellie grabbed his hand. “Chuck hasn’t seen it yet. Show it to him.”

Casey’s shoulders stiffened and he slipped the watch out of the leather case. “Here. You read it,” he told the kid, handing it to him.

It had to be something about the way his voice had dropped, gravelly, when he said it that made Chuck stay quiet. Taking the watch, he admired it and smiled at Ellie, before turning it over. 

Semper Fidelis

Semper Amemus

“Funny,” Chuck said softly, “I’ve heard the phrase Semper Fidelis a thousand times, and I know its Latin and the Marine’s motto, but I don’t know what it really means.” He glanced up from the watch, waiting for Casey to translate.

Staring straight ahead, not looking at either of the Bartowskis, Casey’s throat bobbed before answering. “It means always faithful.”

Chuck slanted a smile, dismissing what he thought he saw: Casey wincing for just a flash. “And, Semper Amemus?”

Looking down at his hands, Casey picked an invisible piece of lint off of his slacks. “It means love always.”

Flushing, the kid looked up at his sister. “It’s perfect, El.”

“But, I can’t take it.” Casey put it back in the box and attempted to hand the package back to her.

“Why?” Ellie gasped.

“Yeah. Why?” Chuck echoed, shifting on the mattress, gaping at what he thought he just heard.

“These were gifts for your wedding party. Ellie, I was too late to pick up the tuxedo today. I would ruin your procession, the pictures, the –”

“Are you nuts?!” 

In a heartbeat, Chuck witnessed two things he had never seen before: he had never observed his sister quite that riled up, and he had yet to see Casey jolt and drop something he was holding. 

Until now.

“I don’t care if you parachute in from a fighter jet,” Ellie went on, “wearing only flowered underwear and painted bright pink when you walk down that aisle. You will be part of the wedding today, John. Got it, buster?”

Picking up the watch, Casey peered up at her from the seat on the bed. “Yes… ma’am,” he rumbled.

“Excellent. Glad we’re clear here.” Ellie flicked a look past them to the clock next to the bed. “Okay, team, we head out in one hour and forty minutes. Does everyone know what their role is here?”

“Oh…” Regaining some composure, Chuck reached into his pocket and pulled out a printed spreadsheet. “Down to the minute, El.” 

“Good.” Her eyes drifted from one face to the other. “I’ll leave you two alone. You probably have some things to talk about.” With one last smile, she pulled the door close.

“Heh,” Casey grunted, turning to him. “For once, she’s right. We do have something to talk about, don’t we, Bartowski.”

“Uh-oh.” Chuck shot off the bed and back pedaled towards the door. “Now before you jump to hasty conclusions, I should let you know there’s a perfectly – gah!”

His sheer size didn’t stop Casey from moving like a cat when he needed to, and in a blink Chuck felt a fist at his collar and his back wedged up against the closet door. 

Well, maybe it was another sign that their relationship had made some progress, the kid told himself. Because, at the moment, Casey wasn’t technically dangling him in the air, since he was allowing Chuck’s toes to touch the ground. Okay, barely. But still.

“Did you really think you would get away with this, Bartowski?” The hold on his shirt tightened and Casey rocked him slightly, shoving his face within inches of Chuck’s. “You contacted Orion and didn’t tell me. You initiated a rogue operation on your own? Do you have any idea what a bone-headed move you –”

“– C-casey?”

“What.” Casey punctuated this by twisting the fabric of his shirt, flattening him against a wall of muscle. Chuck thought maybe he heard the closet door creaking under the pressure. 

“I have a question for you.” With a tense smile, Chuck reached up and wrapped a warm palm over Casey’s fist, watching him with dark, clouded eyes. “Have you not punched me by now because I’m the Intersect …or is it because I’m your boyfriend?” he asked.

Chuck could see a war raging over Casey’s features; his eyes swept over the kid’s plaintive face and after a few seconds of indecision, he loosened his fist. The meaty hand that had been pressed into Chuck’s shoulder moved up slowly to brush the bare skin on the back of the kid’s neck, and Casey’s thumb absently looped around a curl at his collar. The agent’s gaze bored into him, brooding over those words.

“Fuck,” Casey at last muttered between his teeth. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.” He shook his head at the imploring smile on Chuck’s face. “Both.”

Chuck’s grin widened. “Uh… good, good progress here, Casey. That’s comforting at least.”

Casey dropped him, but his fist stayed hooked to Chuck’s collar. “Shhht,” he hissed under breath.

“I can see you’re …uh…” The kid squeezed the heavy hand again. “Maybe… this would be a time to, you know, talk about –”

“– maybe this would be a good time to pull out each and every one of your chest hairs – with your own teeth.”

Chuck cleared his throat. “Huh. Okay, still mad though. But listen to me.” Tucking a hand around Casey’s waist, he skimmed a finger under the hem of his shirt, lazily grazing the bare skin of his middle with a few soothing strokes. The kid became more serious. “I’m going to give you the same message that I gave to Ellie. Do we really want to ruin today because of this? I guess what I’m saying is… can you put on your granite face, and be mad at me tomorrow?”

The agent was close enough for Chuck to see every detail in his irises, how they resembled cracked glass when he got worked up like this. Drilling the kid with a steely gaze, Casey thought about it before he gave a quick look towards the bedroom door. “Deal,” he spit out reluctantly.

Tipping his head back against the closet, Chuck let out a breath he had been holding. “Good… I can hardly wait,” he mumbled, and began plucking Casey’s fingers off of his collar one by one. “And, you’ll be happy to know that while you were threatening to tweeze my body, I came up with the answer to your dilemma.”

Casey eyeballed him skeptically. “What’s that?”

“What you’ll wear at the wedding.” 

“What.”

Instead of answering, Chuck leaned forward and left a kiss on the curve of his jaw, letting his lips trace a trail to Casey’s mouth. Scraping his bottom lip delicately with his teeth, the kid pressed in, hot and hard, putting a stop to any protest. “Follow me,” Chuck breathed when he pulled back.

Of course, there was a fifty-fifty chance that Casey would decide not to follow him, so the kid snagged his hand to string him along. The agent balked at first, but after a stiff pull, he let himself get towed through the living room and out the door. Chuck kept quiet until they were in the cobblestone courtyard, but then he shuffled to a stop.

“Oh my God, I almost forgot. That jerk, he’s probably still… watching us.” 

“Who?”

“Who do you think?” Chuck spun around, and slowly, a smile crept upon his face. “Finally, yeah. I want you to meet someone, Casey.”

“Not the asshole.”

“When did you start calling him that?” the kid chuckled, stopping at their apartment door. “Though, I prefer the more formal Sir Asshole. And, before we go in, did I tell you about your minigun?”

Casey bristled. “What about my goddamn minigun?”

“There’s a chance it might have some fingerprints on it, or even –”

The agent’s spine went rigid. “Open the door so I can get this over with. Now.”

“Yeah, well, remember to only address him as sir,” Chuck reminded him dryly as he entered the apartment. Coming to a halt in the foyer, the kid put his hands on his hips. “McClure?” His eyes drifted from the living room to the kitchen, and landed on the monitors. 

Then, the kid scowled. “I don’t believe it. That bastard!”

“What?” Casey asked, scouring the place. “He rearranged your toys on the mantle?”

“Very funny, but I’ve told you before, they’re not toys, they’re vintage collectables,” Chuck snipped. “I hate to tell you this, but McClure’s gone. I bet he saw you arrive and skipped out of town. Dammit.”

“Wrong, kid,” Casey smirked. “He’s still here. You bet your scrawny ass he’s down in Castle, preparing his final report for the general.”

“Final report? What do you mean?”

Ignoring him, Casey walked over to the monitor and flipped between the video feeds until the interior of Castle appeared on the screen. Just as he had figured, McClure’s brawny back was visible as he sat at one of the desks, working on a computer. 

“You little dick head,” Casey whispered to himself, crossing his arms and squinting at the young agent beaming in from Castle’s surveillance system. 

“But, he’s not our problem anymore, right?” the kid asked.

Casey grunted, but stared a half a minute longer before he brought his arms down to his sides and turned to Chuck. “Okay, genius, show me your idea.”

“Close your eyes.”

“The chest hair plucking is still on the table, Bartowski.”

“Orrrr… maybe not. Just, come upstairs.”

For the first time since Casey arrived, Chuck detected a genuine smile on his face….

Huh, wait a minute… if not a slightly lewd one.

“And get that look off your face. I’m only taking you up to our bedroom to show you what you’ll wear. Then, I have to go rescue Ellie from the nightmare-in-law.”

Casey scowled at Chuck’s back as the kid ducked around the corner to head up to their master suite, but the agent trudged up the stairs behind him anyway. 

“Now what?” Casey wondered, watching Chuck disappear into the closet. “I’m not wearing a tux if you had to guess the size.”

“Hold on, hold on…” Chuck’s voice was muffled. “Let me find it.”

It was probably in the kid’s best interest that Casey was momentarily distracted by the unmade bed, not noticing at first what Chuck had pulled out of their closet, and was now waggling in the air.

“So…what do you think?”

Casey’s head snapped in the direction of the closet – and then, he froze.

“Uh… Casey? Are you going to say any… you know, I was hoping for a definitive answer, a polite nod or even a grunt to –”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Okay, admittedly, that was not the answer I was expecting.” Chuck lowered the garment, his brows bunched up in dismay that his idea had been shot down before he could sell it. “Hear me out.”

Casey bit his lip and glared at him from the other side of the bed.

“I’ll take that as a yes then. To the hearing out part, I mean, not the other – but anyway, last night when I realized there was a risk that you wouldn’t make it back to pick up your tux, I went online and researched what our opt –”

“Chrissakes. Tell me you didn’t just say researched online,” Casey scoffed.

“And, it seems that when a member of the wedding party is also part of the military, that person has the option to wear their … traditional dress uniform.” Chuck held up the crisp navy blue jacket and cobalt blue pants with a red stripe down the outer pant leg. “Personally, I thought you would be proud to wear it.”

“Damn right I am,” Casey told him, moving in closer to Chuck’s position. “But what I have issue with is standing out like a goddamn sore thumb at your sister’s wedding.”

The kid’s eyes strayed from the decorated jacket, strung with medals, to Casey’s feet. Slowly, they traveled up his legs, his chest, before stopping at his face. “Let me get this straight: you’re six foot four, top out at about, what? Two hundred and thirty?”

“Twenty,” Casey growled at the kid.

“Okaaay, two-twenty. And, let’s not forget, on top of that, you’re going to be the date … of the bride’s little brother.” Chuck spelled it out carefully with a grin before going on. “The point being, big guy, sticking out like a sore thumb? I hate to tell you this, but that train left the station right about the time you agreed to be part of this craziness.”

“Oh, God,” Casey huffed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “What will Ellie say if I wear this?”

“She’ll say it’s significantly better than the ‘flowered underwear and painted pink’ option. Now, take a shower and get dressed. Besides, with our government’s new enlightened policies regarding the military, no one should be paying attention to us, right?”

Casey snorted. “Get real, Bartowski. By the way, I hate your family,” he grumbled to himself.

Recognizing that the agent had thrown in the towel, Chuck nailed him with another dazzling grin. “Good. I’ll see you downstairs.”

But Chuck was stopped in his tracks by a large hand clamped down on his elbow. “Not so fast, kid,” Casey said, his voice dropping to a husky register. “I have something to show you, too.”

Chuck’s mouth fell open. “Really, Casey. Geez, how gullible do you think I am?”

“We don’t have time for that,” Casey snickered, using the firm grip on his arm to drag the kid close to his body. When Chuck was pressed up to him, he wrapped his arm around the kid’s waist and hung on. “C’mere, huh?”

“Casey… not good … not now,” Chuck stammered, wriggling in between Casey’s arms. “Have you seen Ellie’s list?” Whipping it out of his pants pocket with his free hand, Chuck waved it in front of the agent’s face. “There’s no time for a …well, you know…”

Casey moved a hard thigh between the kid’s legs. Lowering his head, his warm lips found that tender little spot under Chuck’s ear. “Now that I have you up here,” he mouthed against the kid’s neck, teasing his ear lobe between his teeth, “let’s get in a quickie, eh?” 

“Are you kidding? Ellie will string us up if we’re not showered and ready in less than an hour. Ah! Stop that…!”

Casey’s head bobbed up and he frowned at the kid. “Hell, you did hear me say quickie, right?” His solid thigh took advantage of its position, and Casey gave the kid a long, slow grind with his hips. “Fine… just the pants then,” Casey suggested, raspy, and licked a path down Chuck’s shoulder, biting down lightly at the curve of his neck. “C’mon… let’s go, sport. Take em’ off…”

“Wait… wait. I haven’t seen you all week, and –”

“That’s my point,” Casey muttered, grinding in tight again.

“Gah! What did I say about that? And now you want a quickie before my sister’s wedding, while everyone is waiting for us?” 

“Huh. You make that sound like a bad thing, slugger. Now, get rid of these, eh?” Casey’s fingers latched onto the button of his jeans. “You’re burning up time in Ellie’s schedule with this virgin act. Though, you can save it for later. I kinda like it,” Casey told him, starting on the zipper.

“Nuh-uh,” Chuck said, slapping his hand away. “This isn’t the Old Country buffet, you know. You can’t just reach in and grab a serving whenever you want.”

“Since when?”

“Anywaaay, can you just hold that thought until tonight.” Squirming out of Casey’s grip, Chuck rolled his eyes at him as he made a beeline for the door. “You’re impossible. Now, get in the shower.”

“McClure’s rubbed off on you, hasn’t he? Turned you into a bossy little prick, hmm, Bartowski?”

“Casey?”

“Yeah?”

Chuck’s mouth tugged up in a devilish little grin. “Hold that thought until tonight, too,” he told him, and with one last look, he closed the door.

-x- 

“So, if I am to understand your findings, Lieutenant, the 49b yielded no evidence from the asset?”

“That’s correct, ma’am,” McClure confirmed. “However, general, it is my duty to let you know that…well…”

“Spit it out, agent.”

“There were…technical difficulties, ma’am.” That little bastard Bartowski. “The audio streams have been disrupted for several days now, and I –”

“What? Did you say, several days?”

“Uh, yes, that is correct. I’ve worked with the remote NSA tech support staff, but each time,” that fucking nerd touches it, “unexplainable line noise is generated. But,” and straightening his shoulders, McClure held back a smug look, “one of your analysts has found a back-door fix, and we should have full audio replay within the next six to twelve hours, ma’am.”

“Good. Then it’s not a complete loss, Lieutenant.” General Beckman settled back in her chair with a pinched expression. “Recover it. I want every second of that audio feed analyzed and summarized in a report by noon tomorrow.” She stared into the monitor and her forehead creased as she silently weighed options. “I want you to stay in Castle. Stay away from the asset and Major Casey tonight. They’ll have the wedding to attend to. But, tomorrow, McClure.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Tomorrow, you will have a new mission. I’m changing the parameters of Operation Bartowski.” Beckman paused. “On a permanent basis this time.”

-x-

“Satin slippers?”

“Check.”

“My checkbook?”

“Cheque. No pun intended.”

Ellie gave her brother a deadpan stare. “Engraved wine glasses?”

“And, that is a ‘yes’ on the glasses.” Chuck held up the goblets before putting them in one of the cushioned boxes.

“Oh, God. I think I’m ready. Oh, wait, Chuck, can you go check on dad and see if –”

“Ellie, dear?” Honey stood next to the breakfast bar, holding up a pair of earrings. “Do you think these are… holy hell,” she gasped under her breath and her jaw hinged open, gaping in the direction of the front door. “Who… may I ask, is that?”

Chuck and Ellie swiveled around in unison to follow her line of sight. Ellie was the first to recover.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “John, you look…wow, I don’t know what to say.”

“Ellie, I’m sorry if it’s too much,” Casey grumbled, smoothing his jacket uncomfortably. “I can always change into my black suit, or the –”

“Don’t you dare,” she smiled brightly and turned to Chuck. “What do you think?”

Chuck blinked. “It’s… uh…” His voice trailed off, sounding oddly distant and scratchy. He swallowed hard and tried again. “Casey… you look … really, really good right now.”

That was lame and woefully inadequate even to him, Chuck thought, but he was having a hard time with coherent sentences at the moment.

“Well, no backing out now, John,” Ellie beamed, shifting her gaze from Chuck to the uniformed soldier at the doorway. “Besides, it’s worth it… just to see that look on my little brother’s face.” She blew a sigh. “At least for today, this minute, all is right in the world.”

-x-End Chapter Five-x


	6. Chapter Six

Casey vs. Human Elements

Chapter Six

-x-

“Stop staring. God, you’re making me… well, you’re giving me the damn willies. Don’t you have anything else to do? Where’s Ellie’s list that you were whining about, for god sakes.”

Chuck’s grin bloomed. “Does this make you uncomfortable? Because if it does, I can do this, too.” Reaching behind Casey, the kid handled his handler by slipping a palm over his ass cheek, snaking it up and under the crisp navy blue jacket of his dress uniform. “I have to say, this is a revelation for me. Who knew a man in uniform… nice.” A throaty noise of approval was accompanied by a small pinch to the agent’s nether region.

“Jesus, get your hand out of there,” Casey arched his hips forward, swatting at the kid’s roaming fingers. “Have a little damn respect for the dress blues, will ya’? And here’s your first and final warning: if you even attempt any of this shit tonight when all of those beady goddamn eyes are glued to us –”

“And yet another revelation. Who knew the wedding – the prying eyes, the social rituals, and we can’t dismiss the copious amounts of mingling – would make you, well, jittery.”

“Jit –? Thin ice, Bartowski,” Casey rumbled. 

“I would even go so far as to say a little nervous,” Chuck beamed and went on as if Casey hadn’t broken in. “This is a part of you I’ve never seen, major.”

“Heh,” Casey smirked. “They’ll be other parts you haven’t seen for a while either if you keep – dammit, get your hand out of there!”

Chuck’s eyes lit up playfully, waggling his brows at Casey. “I’d rather do this instead.” Rubbing lightly down the rounded curve of his ass, the kid laid his other hand on Casey’s shoulder, and leaned in to –

“Boys?” 

“Ah!” As the bedroom door popped open, Chuck stumbled backwards, almost tripping over the corner of the mattress. Scrambling to get his bearings, the kid blinked, and noticed Casey had already stepped away, casually straightening his cuff.

“Oh.” Ellie bit down on her bottom lip. “I should’ve knocked or maybe –”

“Sis … we didn’t … ah, see you…” Chuck’s voice trailed off weakly as he shot a look between Casey and his sister. “Did you, um, need us?”

“It’s okay, Chuck. He is your boyfriend, after all. Truthfully, I had kind of assumed you’ve at least kissed by now.” She grinned when Chuck blushed crimson. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know,” and Ellie became serious again, tapping the face of her watch with a manicured nail, “the Limo pulls out with the two of you following us in the SUV in exactly twelve minutes. Sync up and … mark.”

“M-mark?” Chuck’s jaw hinged open and he stared wide-eyed at his sister. “What does that even mean?”

“Roger that,” Casey replied with a nod, tapping his watch. “It means, get your ass in gear,” he whispered against untidy brown curls. “And, why didn’t you get a haircut this week? Hell, it’s only your sister’s wedding, you know.”

“Hmm? What… now, what does that mean?” Chuck pulled his fingers through his hair, frowning.

When the door closed, Casey leaned in and kissed the sullen look off the kid’s face. 

-x-

“The rings, little bro?” If the manic smile on Devon’s face didn’t give it away, the mopping of his forehead with a white hanky did. For the first time in his awesome existence, at least as far as Chuck could recall, it was the Captain who was freaking out. “Please tell me you got ‘em,” Devon added.

“Oh, no worries.” Chuck fumbled through his tuxedo pants briefly before pulling out the two simple platinum bands. “There was no forgetting. Ellie had it on the spreadsheet. And, as a side note, she would’ve killed me.”

“Knew I could count on you.” Devon clapped the kid on the back, joggling his shoulder with a little too much force. “Looks like we could count on your grizzly bear, too.”

“Uh, Devon, I should tell you, he hates nicknames.” Chuck slanted a sideways look down the back hall of the church to see if Casey was in earshot. “So, you probably want to let up a little on the references to the large clawed Ursa Major, if you know what I mean.”

“No problem. I’m just happy your Big Hoss was able to make it to our wedding. Mostly, happy for you, Chuckster. Ellie told me about your … issues.” He winked as Chuck’s mouth fell open to explain there were no issues, but the kid stopped when he saw Devon glance to the side and then stiffen. “Speaking of which… uh-oh. Man down,” the Captain said sharply.

“Uh-oh? What do you mean … and where is –” Chuck followed Devon’s line of vision and his eyes flared in panic when they landed on the target. “Uh-oh. Is that your Great Aunt Millie?”

“Mary. And, she’s got your scary he-man buttoned down at our five o’clock position. Over in the corner by the coat rack.” Awesome tipped his head in that direction. “We need to move out, team.” With his most disarming grin firmly in place, he hooked Chuck by the sleeve to haul him along, and the men scooted towards Aunt Mary in Rescue Formation.

“… my great niece Melinda, standing next to the potted ficus in the blue jumper. She’s a teacher in Atwood, she’s never been married, and loves the Macarena. Can you remember that tonight, John? Melinda would love to meet –”

“Aunt Mary, I see you found my missing groomsman. This is the guy everyone was talking about at the rehearsal dinner last night, remember?” 

At that, Chuck sneaked a look at Casey’s face. “Oh, my God,” the kid almost said aloud. The granite expression and rock-stiff jaw were right at home, as Chuck expected, but sweat had sprouted up on his neck and forehead in tiny droplets. And Casey’s eyes … they gave it away like a highway billboard. Pissed. Frazzled. Ready for combat.

“Devon.” Aunt Mary pivoted on her sensible shoes to peer up at her nephew over the top of her glasses. “Why didn’t you tell me one of your groomsmen was this handsome… and single? You remember your cousin Melinda is still –”

“Uh, Aunt Mary? Do you remember Ellie’s little brother, Chuck?” Devon put a hand in the middle of Chuck’s back and gave him a firm shove, planting him next to Casey. “You see,” Awesome stammered, “My new little bro, and his big bad bear friend are –”

“Vegetarians!” It shot out of Chuck’s mouth before he could stop it. “We’re …ah…v-vegans, actually.”

Devon was momentarily distracted by the admission. “Whoa. You don’t eat meat? Since wh-oof!” The elbow in his stomach stopped him. “Oh.” 

Chuck heard a low groan rumbling in Casey’s chest. Inconspicuously, he clamped down on the larger man’s wrist, stopping him from even thinking about getting the hell out of there.

Aunt Mary frowned at first. “That’s too bad.” For a long drawn out moment, she let her eyes drift over the rigid soldier and the fidgety young man standing side by side, and then she sighed. “I thought they were partners, and, frankly, I think they’re just darling together.” Squeezing Casey’s hand, she winked at him knowingly and made her way towards two of the bridesmaids in ice-blue silk dresses.

Chuck blinked at her retreating form. Out of the corner of his eye, the kid could see his boyfriend take a deep breath while his face turned to the color of chalk. The agent still hadn’t said a word during the Aunt Mary encounter, which was worrisome, indeed, Chuck noted. Latching on to his hand and smiling politely at the milling wedding party, the kid tugged Casey into the stuffy vestibule, peeking over his shoulder to see if anyone was still watching. 

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“Fuck,” Casey finally spit out, massaging his temples. “Compared to what, exactly, Bartowski? Being pinned down by a drug cartel in Costa Rica? Exchanging gun fire with the Abu Nidal from a burned out M1 Abrams?” 

“Uh, I really don’t know if there’s a logical compar –”

“Nuh-uh.” Casey held up a hand to stop him. “Put a sock in it. Unless you dragged me in here to give me a quick hand job behind the choir robes, there is nothing you can say –”

“Shhhh! Someone’s gonna hear you!”

“– and I mean nothing to make this any better. Got it?” 

“Yes … sir.”

“Get that smile off your face,” Casey growled, using one of the sleeves on a choir robe to wipe the perspiration from his neck. 

“Don’t… what are you doing? God, Casey, don’t do that.” Chuck reached into his jacket and pulled out a small tuft of tissues. “Let me, okay?” 

Casey rolled his eyes at the tissues. “Really? Don’t tell me you’re gonna get teary-eyed today.”

“No, it’s for this.” Keeping his eyes steady with Casey’s, Chuck gently swiped his forehead and face, giving a satisfied hum when he finished the job. But he kept his body pressed in close to Casey’s flesh and muscle. “One more thing,” Chuck breathed, tucking the tissue in his pocket.

“What.”

In reply, Chuck touched Casey’s cheek. Feeling the smooth skin under his fingertips, the kid tipped his head closer and snuck a hot and moist kiss from his boyfriend. The agent lurched at first when he felt the surprise of lips burning against his mouth, but after a beat, Casey recovered. His tongue grazed the kid’s lips, and when he parted them, it slipped past, and slowly, deliberately, moved against his own.

Chuck heard a low groan and realized it had been pulled from his throat. “Crap,” he said, drawing his head back suddenly. “Don’t … we can’t –”

“Push it?” Casey smirked.

“Yeah, that,” Chuck stammered, swallowing down the burst of heat that had swelled in his chest. “It wasn’t supposed to be that kind of kiss, Casey.”

Casey ghosted the next urgings across Chuck’s lips, and lowering his head, grazed his neck with warmth. “C’mon, let’s go,” he whispered in a low burr. “You want to, right kid? And no one will notice we’re missing...” 

“Wh-what?” Stepping backwards, Chuck opened up the distance between their bodies. “Are you serious?! It’s my sister’s wedding!”

Casey shrugged, and smoothed his navy jacket while adjusting his gleaming white belt. “Hell, it was worth a try, wasn’t it?” Unable to resist riling him up a bit more, the agent drew a hand around Chuck’s backside. “Let’s get this over with, so we can get on with other things, eh?” he growled, pinching a skinny butt cheek. 

“Hey! You had your chance earlier,” Chuck sputtered over his shoulder, hustling out of the hidden cubby before Casey could strike again. “Get your hands off the merchandise.”

“My hands, my damn merchandise,” Casey told him coolly, slipping out behind him.

-x-

“Dear friends and family, with great affection for Eleanor and Devon, we have gathered together to witness and bless their union in marriage. To this sacred moment they bring the fullness of their hearts –”

Look at those two numb nuts sitting over there. Grinning at me. How the fuck did they get in here, anyway. Jesus. If there was ever a wedding that needed a bouncer, this one woulda been it. Barnes. Already hammered at quarter after five. Swaying on his feet as he came down the aisle. Had the balls to try and salute me. Salute me, for fuck sakes. And look at that little weasel-faced Patel. God, I’d like to –

“Because Ellie and Devon have desired each other in marriage, and have witnessed this before God and our gathering, affirming their acceptance of the responsibilities of such a union, and have pledged their love and faith to each other –”

– and stuff their lifeless bodies into one of those Sunday school storage closets down in the basement. Yeah, that’s right. Of course, the kiddies might get a little upset if they stumble over that surprise when they go in there to find their Jesus coloring books tomorrow morning.

“I take you Devon, to be my husband, loving you now and as you grow and develop into all that God intends. I will love you when we are together and when we are apart; when our lives are at peace and when they are in turmoil; when I am proud –”

Okay. Focus. Wedding, remember? Forget the morons. Think about… Chuck. He’s happy. Look at that smile. Wide… innocent. Dontthinkaboutsex… Even those lips look innocent… nosexdontdoit

No.

… Oh, the dirty, dirty things those lips are gonna ask for tonight. No, they’re gonna demand it. You’re gonna make me put my dick where you want to feel it. Oh, ‘cause you want it. Scrape it over your chest, put it between those lips, feed it…

What the fuck. Dontthinkaboutit!

“– by the giving and receiving each of a ring, by the authority invested in me as a minister of the gospel according to the laws of the State of California, I pronounce that they are husband and wife together –”

Look at his dad. Staring at me, giving me dirty looks. Doesn’t trust me. Dear old Dad… 

No, wait, not dad. Orion. Fucking Orion. He knew all this time, and didn’t tell me. Snuck around behind my back...

Oh, you will pay for that…

Nosexnosexnosex…

…God…

…You’ve been a naughty disobedient boy, haven’t ya’ kid… and tonight? Oh, you will paaay… I’ll fuck that sloppy smile off your face… you’ll like it though, I can promise you that…you’re gonna want to learn what I do to good boys who do naughty deeds. 

thinkaboutthebrideEllielooksnicedress…anything…

tux…Chucklooksgoddamnniiiicetoo.

Mmmm… You’ll beg for that lesson. Disobedience, huh… Tonight, I’m gonna bend you like a Gumby gone bad. Short circuit the damn Intersect out of ya’. How ‘bout that, dad?

Oh shit. Dad’s looking over here. 

-x-

Psst. “Casey? Are you okay?” 

With a grunt, Casey jolted. Snapping his head to the side, he noticed belatedly that the groomsmen were on the move. And, to make matters worse, Chuck was signaling to him with his arm crooked out to the side in a stilted pose. 

“C’mon… Amy’s waiting for you, take her arm and go… get down the aisle,” the kid whispered urgently.

Casey sprung into action, locking elbows with the baffled bridesmaid, who nearly tripped over her stilettos and had to break into a trot to keep up with him. They followed the procession down the center aisle and out through the vestibule, where the bride and groom were still kissing, this time washed in relief. 

“God, what’s got in to him?” Chuck wondered, grinning and nodding courteously at the shiny-faced guests, right on the heels of his father. 

-x-

Mister William Pritchett, Esq., considered himself the top-notch photographer in the greater Burbank vicinity. Bar Mitzvahs. Silver anniversaries soirees – which, hey, let’s face it, were rare these days – weddings, from the simple to grandiose… yes, all were part of his repertoire. His vast skills, honed during the twenty-three years in this biz, brought to life his gift of capturing golden moments. Impeccable images of even the most ornery, colicky baby were achievable … the most wound-up Irish setter puppy calmed under his touch, allowing him to snap cherished memories…

…But this? This was a fucking humbling new experience altogether.

“This isn’t working, Bill.” The bride rubbed her forehead, staring up at the altar. “That’s not going to be the memory of them that I want sitting on our mantle for the next sixty years.”

The exasperated man adjusted the tripod and stood back with his hands on his hips. “I’m a photographer, Mrs. Woodcomb, not a miracle worker,” he mumbled to the flustered newly minted missus. “Can you do anything to make the big one smile – even a little bit at least? And, I mean a real smile. Not the baring of teeth that I’ve gotten so far.” 

“Please, do what you can, but I have to get at least one decent photo of them from my wedding,” she murmured desperately to the man.

“Alright,” the photographer sighed. Good God. The XL Carnivore up there, as Bill silently referred to him, went wooden at the first glimpse of the camera, and the wedding party itself wasn’t helping the situation – lolling around in the pews, standing, waiting… watching them impatiently. It only made GI Joe glare at his … boyfriend? Had to be boyfriend … who was trying to smooth things out. Yeah. Good luck with that, kiddo. 

The two targets of the photographer’s ire were currently standing on the stop step that led up to the altar. The nerdy looking one was murmuring something, pressing his mouth to the ear of the, well, pissed-off one. And now, Bill was in a silent stand-off with these two. Well, one in particular. 

Because, of all the crappy luck, just as they were wrapping up, the bride decided she needed a picture of Chuck – who is apparently her little brother– and this John guy. Together, no less, which didn’t please Rambo any. 

“Uh, Chuck?” Ellie Woodcomb raised her voice, mustering up a smile that couldn’t quite belay her panic. “Would you mind putting your arms… well, I don’t know, uh, do something with your hands… and maybe…”

Oh boy. The curly-headed kid looked plain nervous and ill at ease standing up there with all the eyes on them, but the big one? Holy God, he looked liked he either wanted to beat the shit out of camera or flee out the back with his boyfriend in tow. 

Hell, the way he solidified like a freeze pop when the kid asked him to pose and smile nice? Probably both.

Bill refocused the zoom lens, frowning for a minute. Then, he narrowed his eyes and turned away from the men with a sly smile. “Wait, Ellie,” Bill said quietly. “I have an idea.” 

Two sharp claps rang out, echoing off the walls of the sanctuary. “That’s it, guys. We’re done. You can relax now.”

As if light bulbs had switched on, two things happened in unison: the tall kid turned to his big cowboy with a blazing grin of relief… and the uniformed man angled his head to glance at his younger boyfriend, with an actual small smile pointed at him.

One heartbeat later, they were both blinded by the flash of light.

Ffpphhtt

Bill grinned ear to ear. “Got it, Mrs. Woodcomb.” 

Huh, who knew? Works for babies, dogs, and, now… impossibly awkward family moments. 

“That’s it,” Ellie’s eyes glistened as she watched Chuck and Casey blink, both with sheepish looks on their faces. “That’s the picture I want on the mantle.”

-x-

“Major Casey.”

With an elbow resting on the polished bar, the agent turned towards the curt intonation and raised his glass.

“Mister… Bartowski.”

Shit. He had dodged past a gaggle of single women behind the cake table, and found a nice place at the dimly lit bar stuffed back in the corner, away from the roomful of twittering morons. Their flapping jaws were only making the heat in this joint soar, and sure as hell were the reason his dress uniform felt like it was cinching up around his waist like a lasso. He was even considering slipping out the carved French doors onto the stone terrace in a few minutes, and firing up a Partago.

That was, until Orion sidled up next to him. And, if Casey had any niggling doubts about daddy’s perceptions, they were erased, because that wasn’t exactly a friendly face being leveled at him. In fact, Mister Bartowski was drilling him with a frosty look as he took the seat next to Casey.

“Something tells me you didn’t come over here to talk about how nicely the flowers match the place settings,” Casey said dryly, taking a sip of scotch.

“Very observant, major,” Chuck’s father replied. “Yes, I want to get something out in the open with you. But let me get a drink first.” Stephen signaled to the bartender to bring him one of whatever Casey was having. When the beverage was put in front of him, he took a long pull, and turned to size up the agent. “If you weren’t the biggest bastard I have ever laid eyes on,” he said simply, “I would take you out to the parking lot and pummel you to the pavement.”

Casey lifted his own drink, taking a long draw before setting it down. He didn’t even look at the elder Bartowski. “Care to explain?”

Stephen snorted derisively, shaking his head. “God, you’re good. I’ve got to give you credit there.” He was careful to keep his back turned away from the guests, and Casey watched as the man’s brows pulled together and his eyes went ink black. “He thinks it’s real. My son thinks this relationship hasn’t been fabricated by the US government just to keep him under its control.” Taking another drink, Chuck’s dad made a barbed sound in his throat before he went on. “I can see it on his face… the way he looks at you. Charles thinks you really do love him.” He twisted his shoulders to look at Casey. “So, ‘care to explain’, you ask? Does that spell it out for you, Major Casey?”

Before the spy could turn on the sarcasm, Stephen Bartowski glanced past the agent’s shoulder, forcing Casey to pivot and track his line of sight – but he already knew what had caught the other man’s attention. 

Chuck, of course. He was standing next to one of the pillars across the room, huddled in a conversation. Casey let his eyes linger on him for half a minute – noticing the way his hands waved in the air while he made a point, the way his smile blazed when someone cracked a light joke. 

After a small shake of his head, the agent turned back to the bar and took another swig, and savored the burn. Swirling the ice in his tumbler, watching it blankly, he finally slanted a look at Orion.

“Not an act,” Casey said evenly.

“You … expect me to believe that?” Orion chuckled without humor. 

“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t expect you to believe me,” Casey replied. He focused on one of the cobalt blue bottles over the bar because not meeting Stephen Bartowski’s gaze was the only way the agent would get this out. “I do expect that since you have been hiding from your government for the past twelve years that you don’t believe a word I’m going to say. So, I’m only going to say this once. Yes, in the beginning, it was an act. I was a co-worker, a friend and neighbor of your son’s. Hell, we even car pooled to our dead-end jobs together.”

“But let me guess, Major. They ordered you to sleep with him. So that you could control him even more. Make him never want to betray you or try to run away from the one thing he should escape.”

Clearing his throat, Casey’s eyes skimmed the length of the bar. “By the time the order came down…” Fuck…Careful, careful… Chuck’s dad … remember, this is the kid’s dad… “The … well, things had progressed past that point.” Setting his drink down, Casey absently slid a finger under his starched collar and tugged, loosening it a little. Damn, it was still digging into his neck. “The government thinks it’s a cover. But, it’s not.”

“Is that so.” Stephen polished off his drink, and waved two fingers at the barkeep. “Looks like you could use another too,” he told Casey. Shifting his eyes, the agent noticed a crooked, sly grin slide onto the scientist’s face. “Can I let you in on a little secret?” Stephen asked him. 

“Let me guess… don’t tell me your goddamn Orion?”

Chuckling, Stephen straightened his crooked tie, and lowered his voice. “I don’t blame you for being a little bitter, but no, not that one. What I mean is … that look my son has in his eyes? The one that gave him away when he looked at you?”

Casey stiffened against the polished bar, avoiding the other man’s inquisitive eyes. “You going somewhere with this?” he asked, not appreciating that know-it-all tone of voice directed at him.

“Yeah… I am. You see, it’s the same look you have … when you look at him.” The elder Bartowski snickered again. “I just wanted to see if you would tell me the truth.”

His heart hammering in his chest, Casey managed to hold onto his stony expression. That wily bastard. But two can play, Mister Bartowski, he thought sarcastically. 

“Heh. Funny that you thought it would be a surprise to me,” Casey said flatly, but his eyes sparked even in the murky light of the bar area. “Because anyone who knows your son, knows the kind of man he is, what he’s given up for his country, wouldn’t have a hard time believing it.” Casey slanted him a dark look of his own and took another long drink. “Only if you knew your son, that is.”

Stephen Bartowski picked up a stray matchbook and rolled it between his fingers, staying quiet for a half minute. “Touché’, Major Casey,” Orion finally acquiesced with a nod. “You have me there. But, remember, my actions … may not be forgivable, and I would never expect my kids to fathom it… but everything I did, it was for a reason. Reasons you or your bosses will never understand.” 

The sticky silence was broken when the DJ suddenly launched into – Oh, Christ – Kool and the Gang’s ‘Celebration’. The agent took that as his cue. Finishing off his scotch, Casey set the glass down on the bar and straightened his shoulders. “I should go find –”

Orion button holed him. “Wait … just cool your jets, Major. In fact, have another.” The man behind the bar shrugged when Stephen Bartowski lifted the empty glass, but poured two more heavy shots anyway. “So, you and … Charles.”

-x-

“Where’s your dad, dude? I can’t believe he’s here! That is awesome.” Morgan picked up a fork next to a plate, and scooped up the last of the mashed potatoes.

“Was that… your plate?”

“No, dude. But, mashed potatoes. The food of the gods, man. No germs can be transferred; it’s a law or something. And, you can’t leave them laying here like this and not eat them.

“Oh.” Chuck wrinkled his nose. “Speaking of ….which… uh, Casey’s missing, so I better, you know, go find him.”

-x-

Minefield. A fucking minefield whatever it was that Orion’s getting at – and he’s dragging Casey right through it. God, why the hell did he not pinch the cigar from the glove box and go out on the patio ten minutes ago?

“You’re… a soldier, right?” Orion was watching for every twitch, so Casey kept it steady.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“You’ve seen a lot action, I bet. A man … like you.” 

“Fair share.”

“Seen a lot of skirmishes in your time?”

Oh, fuck no. We’re not talking battlefields anymore.

“A few.”

“See… a boy, like my son there,” Stephen nodded in the kid’s direction, “he hasn’t been exposed to the array of encounters you’ve seen in your tour of duty.”

Casey took advantage of the chilly pause to lift his empty glass and waggle it back and forth a few times, flagging down the bartender.

Orion raised a brow at him and went on. “My son, a nice boy like that, probably only has a few campaigns under his belt. Not worldly like yourself.”

God, does the fucking bartender have an ass of lead? Move it… move it…

“When you do drag him into a mission, expose him to a blitz, I want to make sure he’s… protected.”

Finally… it’s about fucking time he brought the booze. Feeling a bead of sweat sliding between his shoulder blades, Casey latched onto the drink before the bartender could set it down, and took a decent pull.

“Well,” Orion continued with a sardonic snort, “who am I kidding, major? A man… like you? My boy’s seen his fair share of combat… weathered an invasion or two by now… am I right?”

“You know, I like a good smoke with my scotch, and I left a few Partagas – the smooth stuff – out in the SUV. So, I’m just gonna –”

For an old codger, Orion had a surprisingly strong grip. “The smoke can wait. Almost done here. Still waiting for an answer.”

Casey held up the glass in front of his mouth, gritting out a reply between his teeth. “He’s seen a clash or two, yeah, you could say that.”

“So, there you have it.” Chuck’s dad kept his eyes straight ahead, watching the bartender pour a few glasses of wine. “I want to be able to leave here knowing my son is taken care of. Safe.”

Casey wondered why the hell Orion thought he was going to be able to leave, but kept that question to himself. Right now, he just wanted this conversation to end so that he could go cut his left nut off with a butter knife. ‘Cause, it sure as hell was less pain than this.

But Chuck’s dad was still talking… great, the Bartowski goddamn gene pool at work again. 

“I know that in the … heat of the battle, sometimes common sense doesn’t prevail when the soldier finds himself low on ammo. Wants to get in and get out, complete the mission … maybe take a chance or two that he knows is … risky.”

The paper napkin in front of Casey was torn into tiny pieces. He stared at it, not quite sure when that happened, and brushed the fluttery scraps off to the side. God, just say it and get this fucking over with. 

“I’ve learned the importance of keeping spare … ammo down in the armory,” Casey finally mumbled into his glass.

Daddy clapped him on the shoulder. “Good, that’s good to hear. Glad we had this little talk, son.”

Did Orion just refer to him as son?

Shifting in his seat, Casey moved to get up, but that strong grip clamped down on his elbow again, stopping him in his tracks. “One more thing.”

Casey almost groaned, but scooting back in his seat, he pretended to fuss over his cuffs for a few seconds. “Yeah?” he finally asked.

“Have you told him… how you feel?”

Opening his mouth – maybe to tell Orion he could go fuck himself for his efforts – Casey started to get up from the leather barstool, but stalled when he heard the other man chuckling to himself.

“What the hell is so funny?” Casey growled, more pissed off than uncomfortable now.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Stephen wiped his hand over his mouth and was somber again. “It’s just that, I’m wondering if you would’ve told him, perhaps, he would’ve trusted you enough to tell you… about me.”

“Tell me about what?”

In unison, father and handler-boyfriend-spy jerked their heads, spinning around to face Chuck. The eager, anxious look he pointed at them, his eyes shifting from one face to the other, told Casey the kid hadn’t overheard the conversation. Because Chuck sure as hell wouldn’t be smiling; his face would be tinged green with horror if he knew dear old dad was grilling the agent on his past missions.

“Is there anything … ah… going on?” Now puzzled, Chuck cleared his throat when it was obvious neither would answer. “Anywaaaay,” and he wrapped an arm around Casey’s waist, “Aunt Mary just had the DJ dust off the Chicken Dance next, and now she’s looking for ‘that big handsome man in uniform’ to lead the flock. Whatdaya say, big guy? It’ll be um… fun?” Giving Casey his most dazzling smile, Chuck tugged on his arm. “C’mon…”

Orion smiled, but Casey caught a wicked look in his eyes. “Chicken Dance, huh? Oh boy, that’ll be just perfect for the major.” 

Yeah, he got Orion’s message behind that little dig. Tell him, you coward.

Standing behind Chuck, Casey narrowed his eyes at Stephen Bartowski, but bit his lip. Screw you, dad.

“What did he mean by that?”Chuck asked when they were out of earshot. “And, what were you guys talking about anyway?”

“I was just telling him I left my Partagas out in the SUV.” Casey wriggled his arm out of Chuck’s hold. “See you in a few.” Turning on his heel, the agent strode across the lobby, making his way to the double doors.

“But wait! What about Aunt Mary?”

“Eh.” Casey didn’t bother turning around. “Go pluck herself.”

-x-

“Oh, you’re gonna hate this part.”

“God, how did you find me here?” 

“I followed the scent of your Partago.”

Casey shrugged, flicking an ash on the stone balustrade railing he was leaning against. “This is the part where I get to sit back and relax. So tell me,” and eyeballing the kid, he took a long drag and let it out slow. “What am I gonna hate?”

“Uh, well, according to Ellie, I need to round up the family members, because … oh crap… brace yourself… okay, there’s a bridal family couples dance –”

“Yeah, right. Good luck with that,” Casey snorted, and he turned his back on Chuck, gazing out over the grounds of the club. “Let me know how it turns out.”

Chuck took a deep breath, swallowing down the fact that he was a little miffed to be talking to Casey’s back at the moment. The whiff of smooth honey and citrus from the cigar gave him pause, and the kid contemplated his next move. Squinting at his boyfriend’s wide back, he decided this situation would require a more delicate handling. 

“Oh, I see. Well, why don’t I, you know, just go back inside, find Ellie, and let her know the plans she has for the family dance will need to be modified. Kinda hate to disappoint her though.” Chuck turned to peer through the rows of French doors that led to the reception hall and sighed dramatically. “I mean, look at her in there, she looks so … happy, the way her face lights up like that…so different than last night when you didn’t make it to the rehearsal dinner, but, that’s okay, you just st –”

“You’re gonna pay for this too, you know that, right?”Casey groused. “And, before I turn around, wipe that grin off your face.”

The kid dialed it down a few notches, still grinning slightly. “Dance starts in two minutes.” 

Casey took one more draw and tapped the end of the cigar against the stone. “God. Let’s get this over with.”

-x-

“There you are,” Ellie said, snatching Chuck’s arm. “We were waiting.”

“I had to find Casey,” the kid told her, tossing a look over his shoulder to ensure the agent was still in his sights. Surprisingly, Casey hadn’t found a way to get lost en route from the terrace to the dance floor. “Catch up, big guy,” he called.

Casey rolled his eyes, sauntering slowly behind them. “I still hate your family,” he muttered under his breath.

Ellie led the way to the parquet dance floor where Devon’s parents, along with Stephen and one of Devon’s aunts, were already waiting. The ballroom lights dimmed, and above the dance floor, miniature white bulbs twinkled. Devon hurried to the open area, grinning at his new bride, and wrapped an arm around her waist.

And then, the sultry notes of a slow song began.

… Ruined only by the ‘Oh fuck,’ that the kid heard escape from Casey’s lips. Scouring the other faces, he was relieved that no one else on the dance floor had heard it. 

“March, soldier.” Grabbing Casey’s arm, Chuck pulled him out to the floor, careful to pick a discreet spot off to the side. “There, this is good.” 

They stopped, facing each other toe-to-toe. “Now what, genius?” Casey rumbled.

“I think I need to put my arms … or at least my hand … hey, we’ve never done this before, okay, so let me just figure out…”

“God, Bartowski. Just put your damn hand on my shoulder,” Casey huffed, grabbing his other hand. “And whatever you do, don’t look at the crowd. Just me.”

Chuck looked him straight in the eye and smiled. “Okay, I think I can handle that. This is … working.”

“Well, maybe,” Casey told him with a little smirk. “I mean, you haven’t stepped on my toes yet.” 

The kid glimpsed over at his hand, curled over Casey’s broad shoulder. “Wait a minute… is this … am I in the girl’s position?”

“Heh. Took you four months to figure that out? Haven’t heard you complain about it before though, sport.”

“Oh, God.”

“Don’t look at them. I said do not look at the guests. Only at me.”

Chuck squeezed his hand. “I don’t think I told you this in the last hour, but I’m glad you’re here.”

In reply, the arm that was wrapped around the kid’s waist tightened to close the space between them, causing Chuck’s leg to brush against the muscle of Casey’s thigh. Teetering back half a step, he almost smashed one of the agent’s toes.

Casey chuckled. “Easy, kid, got an audience. But, I do like your enthusiasm.” 

“That was your fault,” Chuck blushed.

“You usually like it when I do that.”

“Well, there are a lot of things I like when we don’t have… what did you call it? Beady-eyed people watching us?” the kid smiled. But, settling into a warm silence, Chuck let himself forget about the one hundred and fifty pairs of eyes piercing into them, and listened to the song Ellie had chosen.

Will you stay with me will you be my love  
Among the fields of gold

“Oh, God,” Chuck murmured. “Ellie’s at it again.”

“Ellie’s at what again, exactly?”

“Just … ah ... never mind.” The kid tipped his chin down to glance at their feet. “We need a vacation,” he announced.

“I’m sure there’s a reason for this conversation that will become painfully obvious, but, what the hell are you talking about?”

“A vacation. You know, where normal people pack their bags, and go off to strange and foreign lands –without the objective of bringing down a faction of evil scientists developing chemical weapons, or a plot to assassinate a diplomat who’s touring Korea.” Licking his lips, Chuck leaned in closer to whisper against Casey’s neck. “One where we don’t have to include high-powered assault rifles and gas-tight Hazmat suits in the luggage. No guns, no lies or covers or non-covers.” Chuck gave him a pleading look. “How about it, Casey, a real vacation, you and me.”

The agent pulled back slightly so that he could study Chuck’s face. “No. Not happening,” he told him.

“Wh-what? ‘No’, just like that? Hear me out on this.”

Casey shook his head at him, and leaned in again, situating his face so that their cheeks almost touched. “The government would never allow it,” the agent said, his lips brushing Chuck’s ear, “and more specifically, my commanding officer, who is also incidentally the Intersect Project Lead, would never allow it. They would never let us just pick up and bug out like that, and they sure as hell wouldn’t let me take their precious Intersect out of the country. So, drop it, kid.”

“Our government is set out to ruin my life, I get it,” Chuck said glumly. “But, if there’s no chance of a vacation, I should probably tell you at some point what Ellie has in store for us when she gets back from her honeymoon in Fiji.”

“…the hell?” Casey narrowed his eyes, glancing towards the bride. “Whatever it is, I can tell already I hate it, Bartowski.”

“Now, hate might be a little strong… annnd now that I think about it…” Chuck let his eyes dart to the side just for a beat. “This is probably not the time nor the place for such an unpleasant conversation. So, can we talk about something else, hmm?” 

“Or we can not talk.”

“Or that too,” Chuck sighed, momentarily content with the heat of being twined to Casey’s body, and the powerful arm in the hollow of his back. Adjusting his stance, Chuck let himself draw in closer to him, and took another deep breath. He filled his lungs with Casey’s familiar cedar and earthy scent.

I never made promises lightly  
And there may have been some that I have broken

“Mmm,” he breathed against Casey’s cheek. “You smell nice. I’m glad you decided against the cologne you were wearing earlier. It was, I don’t know, a little odd.”

“I don’t wear cologne.”

Chuck chewed his lip for a moment. “Really? I –” 

Then, the kid froze in Casey’s arms as if his blood had turned to ice. 

The agent tried to steer him with the arm around his back. “What are you doing … move your feet, sport. I’m going to step on your toes if you don’t … what the hell is wrong with you?” Casey complained through his teeth. 

“You … then why –” 

Chuck’s brain was more than an oddity; it was one in six billion, capable of taking entangled synapses and paths of thought and crystallizing them in a white-searing flash of insight.

But, this time, the kid didn’t need the lousy Intersect to feed him the only logical explanation to this freaking mystery.

“You bastard…” Chuck hissed under his breath. “That was a man’s cologne. Your mission. Beckman sent you on a mission of … seduction, didn’t she? Is that it?”

Casey gave him a hard look. “Listen to me, I –”

“Oh my God… oh my God…. it was! You son of a bitch…” Chuck managed to squirm one pained step away from him, but Casey wasted no time recovering from the kid’s revelation. He used his solid weight to pin Chuck’s body to his, and clamped down on his fingers where their hands were joined.

Chuck winced.

“Don’t you fucking dare think you’re going to walk away.” Casey’s tone fell to a low and dangerous depth. “There are one hundred and fifty pairs of eyes watching us. You said it yourself. Here’s a newsflash: see the DJ’s assistant? CIA. The server at table twelve. Don’t kid yourself, she is too. So, if the Intersect chooses this moment to stomp off the dance floor like a spoiled child, our asses will be down in Castle by seven a.m. tomorrow morning, explaining to the General why the asset felt compelled to break our ‘cover’ in front of a goddamn audience at his sister’s wedding. So, you stay put.”

“You agreed to the mission? You agreed to her orders?!”

“I said not now.” The agent pressed every inch of his body firmly to the younger man’s, forcing a spurt of heat and pain to trail down the kid’s spine. Numbly, Chuck tried to back away from him, but that only made Casey tighten his grip. “Now hold still and smile, dammit.”

“You’re … too tight… back off...” Chuck attempted to pull away again without drawing attention to his plight. Impossible, he realized. Not with Casey holding him like this.

“That is not a smile,” Casey said, his jaw clinched as he nodded politely to Ellie. She was now watching them over Devon’s shoulder, her brows pinched together with a curious look on her face. 

“Screw you,” Chuck silently fumed, smothered in the impossible chasm between a wedding dance and a dark confession. “It’s the best I can do under these circumstances. It’s not every day you find out your boyfriend is the government’s whore.”

“Oh, you little –” Casey stopped, biting his tongue. For five drawn out seconds, the thick arm around Chuck’s waist compressed hard enough to the push the air out of the kid’s chest. Quickly slackening when he heard Chuck gasp for oxygen, Casey wrestled up his composure and pressed his mouth to the brown curls over his ear. “Keep it together, moron. We’ll talk about this later.”

Chuck recoiled like a slap to the cheek, but his mouth snapped shut. Reflexively, his fingertips dug deep into the meat in Casey’s shoulder, and the dance became a sparring match of brittle movements and frozen limbs; graceless and tense. 

You can tell the sun in his jealous sky  
When we walked in fields of gold.

As the final chords faded, Chuck shimmied out of the agent’s arms and yanked his palm free from Casey’s grasp. Balling up his fists to stop his hands from shaking, the kid gave Casey a look that could peel back skin, just with a pair of hurt brown eyes. 

“Nothing you can say will fix this. Thank you coming to my sister’s wedding, major,” he said quietly, but the words were laced with venom. Looking away, he turned and strode off the dance floor. 

“Bartowski, get back here,” he heard Casey grumble behind his back. “Don’t … oh, Jesus.”

-x-

For a skinny-ass bean pole who had topped out over the rest of the population years ago, the kid seemed to have picked up at least one spy skill to add his toolbox of outward clumsiness, a perplexing intellect, wrapped in disarming innocence.

Apparently, the kid could melt into a crowd like Jack the Ripper, Jimmy Hoffa, and Bin Laden rolled into one. 

Just fucking perfect.

A quick tour of the joint yielded no government assets – or pissed off boyfriends, depending upon the point of view. Past the carved French doors to the stone terrace, Casey only found a few couples making out, and a huddled group of men like him who had taken advantage of a cool evening to light a cigar. The lobby was empty … and the murky bar in back? Well, hell, there was no way he wanted to go back there again after ‘the talk’ – the fucking talk! – with daddy dearest.

God, don’t think about that right now. 

Heading down a cream and chocolate-hued hallway lit with modern sconces, the agent stopped in his tracks. How could he pick a worse spot? Casey wondered before ducking into an alcove with two ornate doors. It was the last place to eliminate from the list of possible crannies a six foot four Human Intersect could hole up in.

Casey blinked at the brass placard and scrubbed his hand over his face. 

The Men’s Room. 

Again, fucking great. 

Heaving a breath, the NSA agent pushed the door open and gave a quick perusal of the room. It was typical for a hoity-toity place like this; honed marble floors, with a sleek black granite countertop lining one wall. And, through a blind stroke of luck, the space appeared to be empty at the moment. 

Casey tilted his head and listened. Then, turning to check over his shoulder, the agent got down on his haunches to peek under the stall partitions – which was damn revolting to do, but he tried not to dwell on that detail.

“Chuck?”

Huh. Oddly, in the handicap stall at the end of the row, a very large pair of shiny tuxedo shoes lifted up and disappeared.

Fatal mistake, tiger, the agent smirked to himself. However, on the flip side of the equation, Casey made a mental note to have a sit-down with Chuck at some point to discuss the finer points of hiding in a place that offers no escape route. Right now, though, he was just going to have to use that little faux pas to his advantage.

“Kid, I saw your feet. I know you’re there.” Casey stopped in front of the stall door and put his hand on top of it, attempting to swing it open. Of course, it was latched shut, so that didn’t do a lick of good. “Open the door, Chuck,” the agent told him firmly.

“Just go away, asshole.” The scratchy, hollow voice almost didn’t sound like it belonged to Chuck. But the sentiment left no doubts. That was all him.

“Bartowski?”

The silence could’ve iced over the burning pools of Hades. And Casey waited, feeling his patience slipping away. Okay, admittedly, he was getting pissed.

“I know you can hear me,” the NSA agent added, drumming his fingers on the top ledge of the door.

“Good. Then, you’ll have no problem hearing this: go fuck yourself, major.”

Tamp it down, soldier, he warned himself. Temper in check… do not bust the door down… do not –

– to hell with that.

“You know what happens if you don’t open this door right now?”

“What?” Chuck asked, anxiousness creeping into his tone. Living with a trained assassin, the kid must’ve known by now that his boyfriend didn’t take to threats without the follow-through.

“Your sister is gonna lose her security deposit on this place… because I’m gonna bust down this goddamn door at the count of three.”

Okay, shit, zero for three on the whole ‘check the temper-keep it cool-don’t tear off the door’ pep talk. Nice work, major. 

Casey waited, silently ticking off the seconds, when he heard a burst of chatter drifting in from the hallway. He was thankful that the high pitched giggles went into the women’s room, since he wasn’t exactly in the mood to explain to a stranger why he was ripping a stall door off its hinges. Those pesky things sometimes raise an eyebrow or two. 

“C’mon, Chuck. You know I’m not kidding about this,” Casey muttered, giving a fleeting look towards the men’s room door. “You know me better than that. I’ll do it.”

A harsh laugh bounced off the walls in reply. Not surprisingly, the latch didn’t budge.

“Fine. Your choice, Bartowski. A word of advice, though,” Casey warned. “I’d step away from the door if I were you.” He took his time rearing back a pace or two, and he pivoted sideways with his shoulder pointed at the door. “They have a tendency to snap in two if you hit ‘em just right –”

Another second ticked by. Casey inhaled and drew back –

“Wait! God, you –” The agent heard scrambling on the other side of the stall, and with a sharp clack, the lock at last was lifted. In a flash, the door swung open, and Chuck strode out without bothering to look up at him.

“Where do you think –” Casey started, working hard to keep a scowl off his face. “Get back here.”

“It’s all yours, major,” Chuck sneered, immediately rebounding from the agent to avoid his path. “You should be right at home in there.”

“Nuh-uh. The hell you don’t,” Casey growled, snagging the kid’s forearm in a taut grip. “Not until you hear me out.” He hooked Chuck’s shoulder with his other hand, and seeing no other options that wouldn’t cause a scene, the agent hauled him back into the stall and closed the door. 

“Dammit, Casey, let go of me.” Chuck twisted his arm, but when he figured out that this only made Casey cling tighter, he gave up the struggle. “What the hell is wrong with you? Just leave, okay?” he said icily.

Casey bit down on the corner of his mouth, contemplating the fact that sitting ninety degrees north of completely compromised completely sucked on occasion. 

Occasions like right now, when Chuck had the balls to shake his head at him, and tell him to leave. 

Swallowing hard, Casey muscled his body in close, pressing Chuck against the wall. The agent squeezed the kid’s shoulders, and drew a callused thumb soothingly up the side of his neck, giving him a level look. “I want you to listen to me.” 

Chuck flinched from the touch, and when he glanced up, Casey got his first good look at the damage he had wrought. He was met with a pair of wounded brown eyes, and when the agent looked close enough, a fair dose of stinging humiliation.

Shit. Who knew what was going through that head right now? 

The tuxedo jacket Chuck had been wearing was gone, probably left slung on the back of one of the chairs when the temperature had suddenly become suffocating. His face and neck were flushed red, and the fact that he had undone the top buttons of his tuxedo shirt hadn’t helped his breathing, because the kid’s chest was heaving hard.

“Listen to you? So that you can feed me another lie? No thanks, agent. Because, now I’m sure you want to tell me that you were only following orders, isn’t that right, major? That it was a sanctioned government operation, so that makes it acceptable. So, I’ll say it again. Go fuck yourself, sir.”

“Chuck, nothing happened,” Casey said, battling the urge to put his fist through the wall.

“Of course you would say that,” Chuck scoffed. “The government wouldn’t want to risk the Intersect going hay-wire by thinking otherwise, would it?”

“Look at me.” When Chuck rolled his eyes and turned his head, Casey brought a hand up to cup his jaw, firm but gentle, and forced the kid to look him in the eyes. “I said, look at me.”

“What else do you want?” Chuck said bitterly through clenched teeth, thanks to the hold on his jaw.

“For you to hear the truth,” Casey told him, his voice dropping an octave. “Whatever you want to know… what happened… Not hiding it, kid. Ask me.”

Chuck’s eyes gave him a slow burn as he thought about it. The anger faded just slightly, replaced by something else Casey recognized easily by now: the Bartowski stubbornness. “Alright. I’ll play your game,” Chuck agreed coolly. “However, I want you to remember, if you lie to me, spy, well, I’m the one person who can see through it.”

Maybe the nerd had something there. But Casey kept his jaw rigid, ignoring the sweat that was popping up on his neck again. “Okay, shoot.”

Not even hesitating, the kid dove in with question one. 

“Did you kiss him?”

Fuck. Another one of those three finger shots would hit home right about now. 

-x-End Chapter Six-x


	7. Chapter Seven

Casey vs. Human Elements 

Chapter Seven

-x-

“Well?” the kid asked with a stiff shrug of his shoulders. “I’m waiting.”

Casey looked from his face, letting his gaze fall to the open v of Chuck’s crisp white shirt. “No,” the agent said, his voice gravel-rough from the cigars and scotch. “I didn’t kiss him.”

“You – you expect me to believe that in a … seduction – a damn seduction, you asshole! – that you didn’t –”

“I wasn’t finished.” Casey locked eyes with him, his fingers clenching into the kid’s shoulders, enough to almost get him to shut the hell up and listen. Okay, time to suck it up, Marine, and get the truth out there. “I didn’t kiss him… but, he did kiss me.”

Chuck stared, his eyes wide and dark with distrust. “He… kissed… and you let him?” His voice went up an octave as he processed the unashamed admission Casey had just fed him. “Oh, and I bet you sat there and took it like a good soldier, huh?” 

Biting down on the inside of his mouth, Casey counted to ten. In Uzbek. Well, fuck, this was a new experience for him. He had never let anyone speak to him like that… and live, anyway.

“You gonna listen to me or not?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, the agent swept one of his hands across Chuck’s chest and fisted the front of his shirt, squeezing a handful of fabric at his open collar. “Because I’m trying to tell you what happened, kid.”

Chuck frowned at him and looked down pointedly at Casey’s fist. “Based upon the grip on my shirt right now, I don’t think I have a choice, do I, agent?”

“God, you are damn frustrating sometimes, you know that, right?”

Chuck glared. “Are we done?” he grit out between his teeth. “Because, I have a wedding to get back to.” With one more look, the kid attempted to wrestle away from the hold on his collar and scoot sideways, but Casey tugged him back again.

“Fuck no, we are not done.” For the first time since Officer Candidate School, Casey had a miniscule tinge of regret that he had left his calm center somewhere. Like back in the early eighties. 

“Maybe you aren’t, but I’m –”

“Just hold on,” Casey growled. “Listen to me.” Contemplating that pissed-off face staring back at him, the NSA agent loosened his iron grip just enough to sweep his thumb over the bare skin of Chuck’s neck. And, great, at least the kid didn’t flinch as if bitten by a viper this time, so Casey heaved a breath and went on. “You said you wanted to hear the truth, Intersect, which I sure as hell am trying –”

“Okay, fair enough,” Chuck scowled. “Yes, keep going, major.”

The Bartowski stubbornness was back, with a good bit of raw anger to boot. “Are you gonna shut up and let me?”

“I guess I just wasn’t ready for that level of brutal honesty,” the kid spit out. “So, why don’t you explain how you let a man kiss you? I’m listening. All ears, spy.”

Casey went absolutely still, the kind of stillness he mastered right before he struck. Hell, except this time, he was hog-tied. “Alright, the truth,” he said, keeping his voice even. 

Shit, it’s a little bleary… Maybe Chavez had his sweaty meat hook on my zipper, and then I bent down to stop him, and… oh, fuck no … start over...waaay less information. 

“You do realize we are standing in a bathroom stall in the men’s room,” Chuck snapped. “Just saying, you may want to speed this up.”

Casey recognized all routes where tenuous, a little dicey at best, but he started over, telling himself he was merely editing the images for Chuck’s benefit. “Well, I … had to lean over him –”

“Huh. That was a sight to see, I bet. I can’t wait to hear about that how you found yourself in that position –”

“– so he grabbed me around the back of the neck,” Casey sped up the explanation like a bullet, “and the little prick yanked my head down and kissed me. End of story. Okay?”

“Wh-what?!” Chuck’s mouth had hinged open by the time Casey hurriedly mumbled the last line. “Are you kidding me with this? Okay?” he sputtered. “No, not okay. What the hell happened next?!”

Casey looked off to the side of Chuck’s head, where some moron had scribbled graffiti on the wall. “I was never going to let it get that far,” he finally said. “When… it progressed, I ended it.”

“So, ‘ended it’. Interesting choice of words, major,” Chuck said, his tone brittle as dried leaves. “The insinuation of an ending is, of course, there was a beginning. I can’t wait to hear about that.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Next question,” Chuck replied icily. “Still playing along, aren’t you, agent.”

Casey eyed him before brushing his thumb across the warm skin exposed at his collar, but the kid pulled back this time. Not taking kindly to that move, Casey reluctantly relented. “Yeah, okay. Still have more questions? Shoot.”

Again, no hesitation. “Did you… kill him?”

That was an easy one. “Hell, yes, I killed him,” Casey told the kid blandly.

The agent watched as Chuck tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, assuredly to block out the blurry, bloody images that had slammed his mind; his boyfriend killing a man, leaving him in a pool of purple-red blood. “God, Casey,” Chuck at last whispered. “I’m never going to get used to this part.”

“You know what I am.” His voice was gritty. “And, don’t kid yourself. I would pull the trigger a hundred more times, kill a hundred more men just like him in cold blood if I needed to… to protect… the mission.”

“The mission?” Chuck lowered his head to stare at him. “Is that it?”

“You know … what I’m saying here, right?”

“In the only way you can….with the complete lack of actual words.”

He cringed inside. Okay, bull’s eye. Score one for the kid. Outwardly, though, Casey drilled him with a hard look and kept his mouth shut.

“Alright… yeah, I get it, okay? You had to kill him. It doesn’t mean I like any of this,” the kid huffed, giving a fleeting look at the fist still clutching the front of his shirt. “But explain this to me: why in the hell would you agree to the mission in the first place… if you knew it would mean… seducing someone.”

It was another easy-ass question. Casey relaxed his grip on Chuck’s collar, enough to rest his palm against the kid’s chest, to feel the tense muscles under his starched shirt. “You’re the genius here, aren’t you? Think about it, Bartowski. I had no choice,” Casey replied, bringing his face in closer. “Your flash? I’m sure you remember.”

“Before you left? The… 49b?” His eyes widened and his forehead creased as he thought about it. “You wouldn’t tell me what it meant.”

“Yeah, well, here’s your next taste of brutal honesty, kid. A 49b is invoked when the DNI suspects an agent has become compromised in a long-term mission. When the orders came down, I had my suspicions, but your flash confirmed it.” 

“Why… what does that mean?”

“It means Beckman suspects that there’s a potential the duration and proximity of this mission may affect my judgment.” Casey paused, testing the waters by smoothing a hand over the round of Chuck’s shoulder. “That I may be compromised with my asset.”

“Which… you are.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious, but do we need to advertise that little fact to the director of the NSA?”

The kid licked his bottom lip. “Probably not the best solution under these circumstances,” he admitted cautiously.

“Good. Then you’ll understand why I had no choice but to accept the mission. It was a test. If I declined, or made up some lame-ass excuse as to why I wouldn’t be able to perform the … operation…well…” The agent stopped, glancing over the top of the door, purposely averting that heated stare Chuck had trained on him.

“I’m listening.”

Casey wasn’t enjoying this game any longer. Taking his time to flatten Chuck’s collar, he met his eyes and stroked a coarse finger down the angle of the kid’s jaw. Wary, Chuck let him do it, still waiting for him to go on. 

“If I chose to decline, well… there’s no doubt; Beckman would’ve yanked me out of Burbank so hard and fast, it would’ve left a vapor trail – and you’d be picking out china patterns with your new NSA-supplied boyfriend.”

“Hmm?” Chuck wrinkled his nose. “What do mean?”

“The asset would have a new … roommate. Maybe with benefits if you played your cards right,” Casey smirked humorlessly.

“What!?” Chuck swallowed hard, and his face screwed up, no doubt at the not-so-pleasant images thrashing around in his head. “No way. Not happening. Ever. If Beckman thinks I would ever go along with having McClure or anyone else –”

“As if you’d have a choice,” Casey snorted. “You’re the Intersect, an asset, or did you forget?”

“I’d run,” Chuck announced flatly.

“They’d find you.” Casey watched the kid’s face cloud up, but he didn’t argue with the logic. “Don’t kid yourself, and when they did, they’d shove you underground as a precaution,” he said, letting that sink in before taking a breath. “I can’t let that happen.” And because he wanted it by now, Casey leaned in and pressed his lips against untidy brown curls, letting his hot breath ghost Chuck’s neck. “Do you understand now… why I had to do what I did?”

He pulled back to see a firestorm of emotions still swirling in those deep brown pools. After a long half minute, the kid’s shoulders slouched and he rested his head against the wall. “Yes, you make your point. I get it, okay? Sheesh.” He held up his palm to clarify one thing. “But it doesn’t mean I accept it, or like it.”

“Fair enough,” Casey agreed. “Can we get out of here now?” and feeling pretty damn good about getting that sticky mess behind him, the agent leaned in to coax a quick and dirty kiss out of him.

Instead, Chuck yelped.

“What the hell, Bartowski. I was just –” But a beat later, Casey heard the reason the kid got startled. 

Oh. Son of a bitch. They had company. 

Casey ducked his head down, back pedaling away from the stall door – but went rigid when he heard another yip and a quick intake of breath. 

“What?!” he asked, quiet but urgent.

“You’re stepping on my foot!” Chuck hissed under his breath. “And you’re not a light weight, you know!”

“Shut it … Keep it in,” Casey mouthed back.

“You’re not the one that just lost half their foot!” he mouthed in return.

Rolling his eyes, Casey made a cut signal over his throat.

Chuck glowered, but decided to keep his trap shut.

The unseen man whistled a tuneless ditty to himself as he sauntered up to one of the urinals, and taking care of his business without missing a note, he washed his hands at the sink. Crouching low in the far stall, the tight-lipped spy and his still somewhat miffed asset didn’t breathe until they heard the bathroom door swing open and close on its hinges.

“Can we get the fuck out of here now?” Casey grumbled, reaching for the latch. “God, I feel like a pervert or something.”

“Nuh-uh.” Chuck dug his heels in, narrowing his eyes at his boyfriend in a Casey-like gesture. “I wasn’t done with the questions yet.”

Casey whirled around to face the kid, taking hold of his sleeve. “Wait a damn minute. You just said you ‘get it’ –”

“Yes. That’s right,” he cut in with a sour look and stuck his hands in his pockets. “But I still want to know everything that happened. We’re gonna be truthful, right? Get it out in the open? Besides, I know you too well. This may be my only chance.”

“Shit,” Casey mumbled, scrubbing his hands over his face, stopping to scrutinize the defiant kid in front of him…

… and why the hell are they still talking anyway? Because from this vantage point, Chuck had that gawky long-ass body stretched against the wall, sinewy and smooth twined with a musk of innocence clouding around him…

“Well?”

Casey blinked. “Hmmm?” Refocusing, he frowned at the kid. “Okay, fine. Next question.”

“The kiss…”

“Didn’t you already ask about that?”

“Still playing along, correct major?”

“Jesus, okay. Go.”

Chuck hesitated, pressing his lips together as the questions tossed and turned in his head. Then, the kid blew out a sigh. “I mean… how could you… what kind of a kiss… geez, Casey!”

The agent tilted his head at him, studying the kid. “So, it’s the kiss?”and bending in close, solid and firm, he pressed Chuck’s back to the wall. “It bothers you some, huh?” The corner of Casey’s mouth twitched upwards in a sly smile. “You want to know … what it was like.” 

The kid was fighting to keep a blush from creeping up his cheeks. “Y-yeah… you could say that,” he answered with a look that said he didn’t trust where this was going. “I deserve to know.”

“I think you may have a point, kiddo,” the agent said in a thick voice. Sliding his warm palms up Chuck’s arms, he dug his fingers into the rounded swell of muscle on the kid’s biceps. “Heh,” Casey grunted in mock surprise, “was McClure working you out? ‘Cause, they don’t feel as skinny.”

“Very funny. Stop trying to change the subject.” 

“Okay. The kiss.” Casey’s hand slipped up his shoulder, and Chuck’s face went desperate but resolute when it came around the back of his neck. The messy waves over his collar tickled the side of Casey’s palm, and hell, it was crazy to be this close and not take action, so he raked his fingers through a few loose curls. Yeah, he had gotten used to this, being able to do this. Touching him made the agent know he wasn’t a broken human, because he could feel this.

“I’m aware of your avoidance tactics – remember, it’s me,” Chuck broke in.

Rolling a dark tendril against his callused thumb, he contemplated the kid’s uneasy expression, drawing out the silence for half a minute. “How about this… I’ll show you what it wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t like … what – mmmph!”

It could’ve been a noise of protest or supplication, the agent told himself, but it wasn’t the time to stop and sort out the pieces. Instead, he cupped Chuck’s jaw with both hands, squeezing lightly, wordlessly asking him to open up and let Casey get a taste of him –a taste of anger and lingering hurt that Chuck couldn’t hold back any longer. Asking to take it out of him. 

With a small twist, the kid tried to pull back, but Casey pressed his mouth hard to his, slow and wet and heated, as an answer. This would be a holy mess if he fought it, but Casey could feel Chuck’s resolve on the brink of spilling out of him. 

“Easy, easy, kid. C’mon, lemme do this,” Casey growled against his mouth. A caress of lips and tongue, warm hands massaging his jaw, dragging down the skin of his neck … and the agent felt the kid relax under him, give in to it. Chuck parted his lips, and Casey sucked lightly on his bottom lip, grazing it with his own warm, rough mouth. The kiss anchored them to the wall, an interplay of heat, rolling bands of muscle pressed tight, and humid moist air shared in sharp breaths between them.

Time had passed by, like rippling waves with no end or beginning – was it a minute… hell, five minutes? Disengaging, Casey had a triumphant gleam in his eyes and gave him a lazy grin. “It didn’t feel like that, Chuck,” he whispered gravelly, lips pressed to the kid’s ear.

“Why did you … I didn’t say you could – I’m not done yet!” was all Chuck could get out, blinking at him with bug eyes. “And no kissing in the men’s room!” The kid transferred his gaze to the side, which only made him realize his hands had somehow latched onto Casey’s shoulders during the blitz. Chuck dropped them sheepishly and folded his arms over his chest – which did nothing to hide the fact that he was breathing hard. 

“What next?” Casey rumbled, watching with amusement the rise and fall of Chuck’s chest. “You have more questions, Bartowski?” 

Okay, so Casey knew he was playing dangerously close to the edge, but that remark? Well, the kid may have swayed on his feet for a moment or two, but he quickly regained his composure, and the flustered demeanor was gone. Now, Chuck was pissed. 

Dammit.

“Oh, I’m not quite done yet, major” he said coolly, and clearing his throat, he retreated a step – all that the tiny space would allow. “Next question: did you… touch him?”

“Oh, fuck,” Casey groaned, the expletive seeping out before he could swallow it down. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he risked a glance at Chuck. “I don’t… hell, I don’t remember exactly…!”

“That’s funny. I thought we were going to be honest here. The truth.” 

Casey darted a look over the stall door again – not to avoid the kid’s dark searching eyes. No way. He was just checking to see if they had another visitor, right? And hell, he didn’t have to answer these questions anyway, he thought, finally peering over at those baby browns. 

Eh. 

“Okay, yes,” he replied, grinding out each word. “I had to touch the little ass-wipe to get his attention at one point in the op, so yes; I touched him. Happy now?”

“Jesus, Casey! Do you have to be so… where did you touch him?”

Squinting at the kid, Casey studied that tempting innocence blown wide for a few seconds – and then, he had to press his lips together to stop the small smile that wanted to form on his mouth. Because, as a soldier, Major Casey abided by a sterling set of truths. Honor, courage and commitment…

Oh, yeah, and this one: when your opponent is naïve enough to give you an opening the size of the Grand Fucking Canyon, it is your goddamn duty to run with it. 

“Yeah … good thinking, Bartowski,” Casey said, his tone dropping, raspy. “You wanna know?”

“That’s right, I – Oh. Oh!” It wasn’t the kid’s usual method to be that slow on the uptake, but by the time the predatory gaze had registered in that too big of a brain, Casey had already snagged the kid’s flailing arm right above the elbow, and crowded him back against the wall one more time.

“You mean, where I touched him…?” Casey murmured, his lips tracing a warm path against Chuck’s cheek, kissing him at the hollow of his neck, and moving to bite down lightly on his ear lobe. 

Obligingly, Chuck whimpered his assent. 

“Hmmm?” Casey kept going, sucked lightly above his collarbone. “That’s what you wanted to know?”

“Wh-what?” Chuck stammered. “What are you… doing?”

Good boy…now you’re getting it…

“Let me show you, huh?” Casey said in a rough burr, and a large hand drifted down, trailing past Chuck’s waist. Dragging his fingertips over the jut of his hip bone, he splayed his hands wide on Chuck’s thigh, and lightly squeezed into the muscle. “What I did…”

“That’s … n-not what I meant when I asked the –”

“But this way, you’ll have no doubt. You said you wanted the truth,” Casey replied in a shallow breath. Lowering his head to Chuck’s neck, he teased a small spot under his ear, just with the wet tip of his tongue. “Yeah?”

Right there, that’s the broken little noise he wanted to hear. Casey had done ample study of his boyfriend’s neck and bare shoulders… late at night, when the patch of light from the courtyard slanted thin beams through the blinds – letting him soak up the tight expression on Chuck’s face. That unhinged, craving look he got. That’s what he was looking for.

“N-not fair,” Chuck told him, squirming with nowhere to go.

“Stay still,” the agent told him quietly. “You want me to show you this…” No way in hell would he let him go now. Sinking his fingertips into flesh, Casey rubbed his hand down the black satin stripe on the trouser leg, kneading his outer thigh, giving him a good feel in long even strokes. “This is what I had to do.” 

The explanation came with a full court press on the hips, and hell, while he was there, Casey reached around and grabbed that nice firm ass. Yeah, like that. 

“God…Casey…” Chuck let out a huff, clawing into Casey’s arm reflexively. “…What are you…”

“Want me to stop?”

“N-no…” he managed between breaths. 

Oh, he was in. Nuzzling gently along his jaw, Casey coaxed the kid to tilt his head, and with a nudge, he offered up the smooth skin of his neck more willingly. 

“Still listening?”

“…This is…ah… I’m l-listening.”

“Good… because I want you to know… the truth, eh, Bartowski?” Casey nibbled on the long tendon, then drew his tongue in a tiny loop on the bite mark imprinted from his teeth. “I only touched him here,” and the agent dug those long, strong fingers into his thigh, rubbing up against him. 

“…Uh-huh…I see.” The kid couldn’t quite repress a shiver when Casey lifted his head, licking the edge of his ear. “B-but, one last question…” Chuck struggled to get the words out. “Where …did he touch you? Before you … ended it?”

Huh. Either Chuck had imbibed in a few extra flutes of champagne, or this was one of the times he was the most oblivious person Casey had ever met. Nice work, Bartowski; he’d have to show him that, too.

The NSA agent paused for a brief second, recollecting the feel of that bastard’s hand on his crotch, the rough handling under those sweaty palms. Right before he plugged the little fucker. 

“Yeah, I was thinking you’d wanna know,” Casey’s lips raked against his shaven cheek. “Not gonna do it like that...”

“Wait,” Chuck tried to push back, but the death grip on his thigh kept him planted. “What did he –”

“Let it go, kid…” Casey said in a low voice. “I’ll do what you like instead.” The hand that had been stretched over Chuck’s thigh moved sideways, sliding below his belt buckle and down. Fuck, that hard, lean body was feeling good, pushed up against his legs and chest. Casey skimmed lower, his fingertips trailing along his length, scraping delicately with the barest friction. Yeah, feel that, sport? Oh, and he did, because even through the fabric of his pants, the agent got a generous handful hardening under his touch. 

“Oh, no, no, no… I mean, you shouldn’t… this is not a g-good idea…”

“Really, cause this?” and Casey gave his shaft a rub over his slacks, along the perfect curve from tip to root, with his lips brushing his ear. “This feels good, right?”

“…y-yeahmaybeitdoes…”

“Maybe, huh?” Casey cupped his fingers to trap his hard dick, and dragged his palm up and down, applying just the correct amount of pressure. He was pretty sure Chuck was holding his breath, until he heard him whimper again. “Kid, it didn’t feel like … this…” and he pressed lightly, massaging the shape with his fingers. It was giving Casey a head-buzz to make him stiff. God, it was easy. 

“C-Casey, I should remind – ah! – that this may not be the best idea at the moment.” Squirming out from under the wall of hard flesh, Chuck snatched his boyfriend’s wrist, and attempted to tug it down to his side. “We’re in a – a men’s room … anyone could come in here!”

“C’mere,” Casey rumbled. “No different from the storage closet at the Buy More...” Offering up some motivation, the agent grazed the kid’s bare neck with the edge of his teeth, and slid his hand back where it was a beat ago. “…you’d like it, Chuck…” He threw in some nice even, begging strokes, spreading his fingers wide. “…it’s what you want, kid…just say the word…”

“Mmm! God… I can’t believe we’re going to do this… Okay, okay then…m-maybe if we’re –” Chuck’s voice broke. Hearing a groan from the ragged edge, the agent curled his fingers, and the kid couldn’t help but arch his hips into him. “…damn you…” he said softly. 

“Heh,” Casey replied, satisfied. Fastening his mouth to the heat of his lips, he left a burning kiss, filthy and deliberate, while fingers dug into his back. “Shoulda brought your tuxedo jacket if one of us was going to get down on his knees. You can use your shirt, hmm?” he muttered against his mouth.

Casey expected a protest, but strangely, he felt the kid go stock still. 

“Oh, shit,” Chuck mumbled.

“Not what I was thinking,” the agent chucked, “but –”

“No, I mean, someone’s in –!”

“Boys?”

They froze. 

In a flash, a sharp clacking of heels on the tile sent a jolt through them, and gave Casey the wherewithal at least to remove his hand from his boyfriend’s crotch. “Shit! Who the hell…” Casey growled, barely audible.

“Are you … in here?”

“Oh God,” Chuck stammered in a not-quite-hushed voice. “Is that El –?” Mmmph!”

The agent’s hand flew up to clamp down tight over the kid’s lips. “Keep it in,” Casey mouthed to him. “Don’t let her –”

“Chuck? Was that you?” 

Oh, hell. The babble had spurted out before he could cork the dam. And, isn’t this fucking great, because the wary feminine voice most definitely did belong to Ms. Eleanor Faye Bartowski. Scratch that. Woodcomb.

“Don’t you dare make a sound, sport,” Casey breathed, still hoping he could salvage the covert op. “She’ll go aw –”

“Was… was that you? It was! I know I heard your voice.”

With his hand still cinched over Chuck’s mouth, Casey watched a pair of brown eyes pop in horror. Dammit. Busted. Narrowing his eyes at the kid, the agent scowled and let his hand fall to his side. “Answer her,” he huffed. 

“Uh, Ellie?” Chuck asked, raising his voice tentatively. “Are you aware that you’re in the little boy’s room?” 

The pause outside the stall door went on long enough for Chuck to clumsily straighten the front of his pants. However, Casey noted, it didn’t do a lick of good to hide the tent pole in his pants.

“Chuck, Morgan said that he saw you head in here…” The familiar mother hen worrying crept into her tone. “And, then, well… Casey was missing, so I put two and two together and figured maybe… Well, is everything alright, guys?”

“It’s … fine… trust me El, everything is – gah! Stop that! – Fine, really.”

“Then why are you? ..... Oh!” Ellie gasped, turning bright crimson. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. I just thought … with everything that happened this week, and then when you both disappeared, I was thinking that maybe –”

“El,” Chuck cut in, wiping his sweaty palms down his pant leg. “Did you … need us for something? Because, you probably shouldn’t be, you know, hanging around the men’s room?”

“Oh… oh, yes, actually. That reminds me.” Ellie cleared her throat and her voice perked up. “The third shift ER nurses requested the Macarena be cued up next, and they also requested – and these are their exact words – the handsome mountain of hot meat in uniform lead the line. So,” she said playfully, “let’s get going, Casey. Front and center on the dance floor. Oh, and Chuck?”

“Uh, yeah, sis?”

“Don’t forget to wash your hands,” she told her little brother as she turned on her heels. “See you in a minute, boys. I’ll be waiting out here.” 

They didn’t move until they heard the squeak of the door closing on its hinges. In a heartbeat, Chuck’s head landed with a thump against the back wall and he let out a sigh. “Did… she say wash my hands?”

Casey sagged against the stall door, and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Did she say Macarena?” 

Tilting his head to the side, the kid peered over at Casey, and the agent caught sight of something he hadn’t seen in a good half hour. Slowly, a grin bloomed on the kid’s face, until it blazed ear to ear. “That she did,” Chuck confirmed, the smile still set to blinding on the dial. “Which reminds me, Casey, one more thing: my tuxedo jacket is on one of the chairs at Morgan’s table.” 

“So?”

Chuck glanced down, red-faced, at the front of his slacks; his boner was on proud display, almost poking through the cloth. “I’m going to need it in order to get out of here, so, can you bring it for me?”

“Fuck! I don’t believe this…” Casey groused under his breath. A minute ago, he had been working his way to finally getting some – hell, he had the kid on edge, for Chrissakes. Face flaming, panting, up against the wall, ready to take one for the cause. And now this? 

“Oh, and Casey?”

“Yeah?” he asked, trying not to sound pissed-off as he lifted the latch on the stall door. “Now what?”

“Just … can you hurry up?” Chuck’s crooked grin grew one more time, and he waggled his brows at the larger man. “Because,” he added, “I have to find the videographer before the dance starts.”

Casey gave him the evil eye, the one that could melt rock. “I still hate your family,” he muttered, muscling his way out the door.

-x-

“Well?” McClure asked, looming over the two men like a scraggly, angry wolf. “You two have been humping that thing for five and half hours. Can ya’ fix it or not?”

Nerd One – ‘cause, hell, these guys all look to the same to him – craned his neck to look up at the impatient agent hovering over them. “These things generally take time,” he said dryly, and he glanced at the monitor again. “We haven’t been able to isolate the –”

“God dammit, no more excuses.” McClure shoved a manual off to the side so that he could sit on the edge of the desk. Crossing his arms, he stared daggers at the two NSA technicians. “This was an order from the top, got that? If we don’t recover the audio on this surveillance feed, it’s all of our asses in a sling.”

One of the men averted his eyes and adjusted his tie, while the other took a gulp of the half empty Red Bull next to his open briefcase. For ten drawn out seconds, only the droning hum of the computers that lined the wall in Castle broke the uncomfortable silence. 

“Lieutenant McClure.” The smaller of the two men – Li-Kuai Chou according to his shiny NSA badge –glared up at the bulky agent over the top of his horn rimmed glasses. “Let me get this straight,” he said, leaning back in his office chair. “Your asset was allowed – somehow, someway, agent – to tamper with government surveillance while under your watch. Furthermore, your asset tapped into the server to disable the frequencies by finding a backdoor route –”

“– Or an undetectable rootkit, don’t forget,” the other interrupted, not to be out-nerded by his fellow technician. “We still haven’t eliminated the possibility of a rootkit … or a –”

“Put in a sock in it,” McClure told him, raking his hands through this hair. “And, you,” he said, turning to the first one. “How the fuck would I know what he did? Isn’t that why you’re here? The asset is a damn geek, okay? From your planet, morons. Hell, you should understand that, right? So, skip the tutorial and solve the damn problem! I need this surveillance recovered. Pronto, geeks.” 

“Lieutenant, let me remind you of a few facts,” Chou said indignantly, climbing out of his chair. 

“What’s that, nerd?” 

McClure figured the little fucker must’ve gotten worked up by this; maybe he had insulted him in Geek dialect or something, because the small man snatched his tiny screwdriver out of his chest pocket and pointed the working end at him. 

“Lewis and I have a perfect track record – that’s why the NSA sent us.” Chou drew out each word as he stuck the screwdriver at the very tip of McClure’s nose. “We will recover the audio. And, let me remind you, it was you that let your asset access our controlled environment in the first place.”

“You little ass-wipe,” McClure sneered, latching onto the screwdriver and tossing it over his shoulder. “You better hope –”

“Guys, guys.” Lewis jumped between them, palms raised in a placating gesture. “Aren’t we on the same side?”

The men glowered at each other for long half minute, but the nerd-agent stand-off finally ended in a draw. “Get back to work,” McClure sneered. 

“Yes, sir,” Chou replied, oozing sarcasm.

With one last menacing glare, McClure moved over to the conference table and plopped down in one of the chairs with a grunt of annoyance. 

God. Nerds. First the asset, then these dorks from the NSA. Well, he wasn’t gonna let them blow this op under his watch. 

-x-

The geeks waited until the beast-sized agent turned his back before they looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Pushing aside the clutter on the desk – an empty pizza box and a two portable hard drives – the men took their seats at the computer again, and set out to unravel the asset’s method of subverting their security nets.

Lewis tilted back in his chair, rubbing his chin as the studied the monitor. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he whispered to Chou, glancing over his shoulder.

“That this guy is an asshole?”

“Yeah, that too,” Lewis nodded with a smirk. “But, I’m also thinking… whoever this asset is, if he was able to break into our application and do this? Well,” he thought long and hard for a minute, “I sure as hell hope he’s on our side.”

-x-

The low buzz of McClure’s cell phone caused him to sit up and fish it out of his pocket. Reading the display, he stood and checked the magazine of the handgun that has been shoved in his waistband. 

“Tonight’s operation has been green-lighted. My team’s in position,” he told the technicians. “That means get your asses in gear. I’ll be back in a few hours, and I need that evidence.” 

“You worry about your job, we’ll take care of ours,” Lewis said coldly. “You’ll have it.”

A wry smile slipped onto McClure’s face as he took the Castle stairs two at a time. On some level, the agent supposed, he should be satisfied with his new role within the DNI’s most critical and top secret project, and leave it at that. 

But the physical evidence that the major was indeed compromised? That would be the only way to dethrone the general’s top bulldog from his lofty pedestal, and take his position as the NSA’s newest alpha spy.

-x-

“Alright, let’s see, box number one,” Chuck sighed heavily. “And don’t just stand there, because Ellie’s got her list out again.”

Casey grunted, eyeballing the kid warily before his eyes landed on the box he had in his arms. “Does the woman ever let up? The reception was officially finished at midnight,” and he glanced at his watch, “which was fifteen minutes ago. I thought we were off-duty, and I sure as hell want to get out of this damn uniform.”

“Well, major,” Chuck said, beaming. “I’d like to see that too, but the groomsmen’s duties don’t end until the supplies are packed away, according to line item one fifty-three on page four.” 

“God, I hope you’re kidding about this,” Casey groused.

“Uh, sorry, big guy,” the kid snickered, “but if you grab the list off the top there, you’ll see for yourself. Oh, wait. Instead of that, can you get the back hatch for me? This thing is heavy.”

Bunching up his brows, Casey grabbed the handle and opened the hatch to the rear cargo area. Chuck balanced the box on the edge and gave it good shove across the mat.

“Let me see this,” Casey said, leaning in to snag the spreadsheet off the top of the box. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding,” he muttered, scanning the list. 

“Never under estimate a Bartowski. You know that already.”

Ignoring him, Casey began reading from the list. “Unopened liquor?”

“Behind the bar. Waiting to be carried out.”

“Shit. Guess who gets stuck with that,” Casey grumbled and went on. “Pay the DJ, caterer, and band in full for services rendered.”

“Done,” Chuck said, half triumphant, half-exhausted. “And, before you read the next item: yes, I did return the checkbook to Devon.”

“Secure the cards from the gift table, and lock them in trunk of the Ellie’s car.” Casey looked up. “Done,” he announced, obviously pleased with himself.

“Really? Wow, I’m impressed, big guy. See, this groomsmen thing isn’t so bad after all.”

Casey hooked his thumb in his belt and puffed his chest out. “Made sense for me to transport the cash. I’m the only groomsman in this joint that’s locked and loaded, right?”

Chuck coughed and cleared his throat. “Locked and – ah – you make an excellent point, by the way,” he smiled. “Well, don’t get too comfortable over there, major, we still have to gather up the gifts and pack them away.” He glanced into the back of the NSA Tahoe and bit down on his lip. “What else does she have on there?”

The agent’s chin jutted out as he studied Ellie’s task list again. “Jesus, Bartowski,” he snorted. “Thought you of all people would be more careful with your sister’s list. Here’s one with your name next to it, item two oh seven on page four.” 

“Hmm?” The kid slanted a sideways look at the sheets of paper Casey was holding, but under the lights of the back parking lot, he couldn’t make out the tiny print. His eyebrows crinkled up. “I don’t remember that one...”

Casey rolled his eyes at him. “How the hell could you forget this?” Glancing up, he raked his eyes over Chuck, openly appraising him from head to toe, before he read from the spreadsheet. “Give your boyfriend a welcome home surprise – huh, look at here – using only your tongue and a –”

“What! Shhh! Someone’s gonna hear – give me that!” Snatching the list out of Casey’s hands, Chuck couldn’t help but quickly scan it to confirm what he already knew. “My sister would never – can you be serious just for a minute? Geez, we still have work to do.”

“Well, you do, at least, according to your sister,” Casey told him, pointing a dirty leer in his direction. “Gimme that.” Snaring the list from Chuck’s fingers, he stepped close, crowding the kid up against the back bumper, and leaned in to take a bruising, hot make-up kiss. “Whatdayasay, sport? Let’s take this somewhere, so that we can –”

“Stop right there.” Backing up a step, Chuck fought not to flush. “I say… that you are completely nuts.” He shook his head and stared at his boyfriend in disbelief. “Now, get in there – please – and start bringing out the gifts, so we can –”

“Well, if all of that has to fit in here, you’re gonna have to move the box first,” Casey interrupted, nodding towards the carton in the back cargo area. “Start packing from the back and work your way to the front, eh, genius?” Crossing his arms over his chest, the agent assumed his bad ass stance, complete with a smug look on his face.

“Wh –? Oh.” Chuck rested his hands on the bumper and peered into the back of the Tahoe. “You make another excellent point, I guess, major,” he said, giving Casey a mock salute. “I’ll just… go do that.” Shrugging, the kid climbed into the back cargo area on his hands and knees, shoving the box snug to the front seat. “There. Now we can fit –?”

Chuck’s voice was muffled by a whoosh and a sharp metallic sound; the sound of a lock snapping into place. “What the –?” Craning his neck, he shifted around in the tightly enclosed space to see what was going on behind his back. When Chuck’s brain caught up, his eyes flared and his mouth fell open. 

It wasn’t everyday he saw his bulky boyfriend in full dress uniform crammed like an over-stuffed suitcase into the back of an SUV. 

“Uh… Casey?”

“Yeah?” he replied casually.

“What … are you doing… exactly?” Chuck asked, trying to keep his voice level. “Do you realize that you just shut the back hatch?”

“Yep.” By now, the large man was leaning comfortably with his back against the rear liftgate, his long legs stretched out in front of him. 

“Uh… I don’t know what you’re …. but Casey, I wouldn’t get too comfortable there, I mean, you’re going to have to move, or we’ll be stuck in here and – what did you just do?”

“Secured the vehicle using the lock down activator on the fob.” Casey dangled the key chain in front of the kid’s face before jamming it in his pocket. “NSA installed emergency protocol system. All entries and exits secured.” He raised a brow at the kid. “Heh. For now.”

Chuck gaped. Maybe it was the champagne, or the six – or was it seven? – lemon drop shots Morgan had foisted on him, but Casey was making no sense whatsoever. The kid swallowed hard and peered at him in through the murk. “I’m sure …. there’s a logical explanation that you’re getting ready to share…?”

“Do you realize how hard it is to find a spot where your damn family can’t find us?” Casey scoffed at Chuck’s wide-eyed expression. “C’mon, let’s –”

“Are you – ow!” The kid rubbed the sore spot on his head where he had whacked it into the roof. “You think that I … and that you… here?” He stopped, waiting for Casey to get a good laugh at his expense as he delivered the punch line. 

Instead, Casey undid the top tiny metal clasp of his navy dress jacket. 

“Oh my god oh my god...” Chuck stuttered. “Stop right there, major. Are you out of your mind? This is –”

“– a big-ass SUV courtesy of the NSA,” Casey smirked, patting the bristly carpet next to his seat. “Slide over here, eh?”

“Wh … Don’t look at me like that. Give me the keys!” 

“Plenty of room, tiger.” Casey smiled with a look that promised nice and nasty things. “Hell, think about it: your damn family has been on us like fucking leeches, and –”

“Hey! I don’t think I appreciate that –”

“– your dad, or should I say Orion, probably thinks he’s gonna be staying with us for a while – “

“– of course he would be staying with us. I haven’t seen him in twelve years!”

“– and you bet your ass that big prick McClure will be sniffing around tonight, trying to root out any final evidence of Beckman’s goddamn 49b,” Casey said, working on the top button of his coat. “Right before he shuffles back to DC with his tail between his legs tomorrow, that is, after his lesson.” Chuck kept his eyes locked on the agent’s hands, watching as another button sprung free. “So, that means, sport, you’ll need to scoot your skinny ass over here.” Casey levered up from the back hatch, and tossed his peaked cap over the front seat. “Just a quickie, eh?”

Chuck bounced back on his haunches, and blinked. “This is all very funny, Casey. Ha-ha, right? But I said, give… me… the… keys.”

“Nope.” Casey unfastened the bottom button, and Chuck tried not to notice a very taut grey t-shirt stretched under the jacket. “Wanna hear my next idea?” the agent asked.

Chuck squinted at him in the dark, his brows furrowed. “I know I’m going to regret this, but… what?”

“Ever make out with a man in uniform?” Casey asked, his voice going smoky and low, the way he could do it. 

Chuck inspected him for a moment – the way a splash of light from the reception hall shone through the tinted glass and dappled one side of Casey’s face; the way his sharp features cast angular shadows, cloaking his expression.

“Oh. That’s it?” the kid finally asked, and laughed nervously in relief. “I thought ... okay, I guess you’ve earned a kiss,” Folding his lanky limbs awkwardly, Chuck crawled on his hands and knees, and placed a chaste kiss on his boyfriend’s firm lips.

“Good. Got that out of the way,” Casey growled, and steering him down, the agent lowered his head to nibble and suck lightly on the humid bare skin at the kid’s collar bone. “Now, get the damn pants down.” The agent’s hand snagged a belt loop and he ran a finger under his waistband, hunting for the bottom of his shirt.

“You – you aren’t serious.”

In reply, the warm lips bit down gently on his ear lobe, rolling it between his teeth.

“Oh,” Chuck managed to say, not moving when he felt his shoulders flattened firmly to the mat. “I guess you are.”

Casey slid his rough hands down Chuck’s ribcage, and grabbed a fistful of fabric to untuck his crisp shirt. “God, you are so easy, kid,” he whispered against the wacky curls, and helped himself to a long deep taste of his mouth. “...I like that about you…”

-x-End Chapter 7-x-


	8. Chapter Eight

Casey vs. Human Elements (Chapter Eight)

 

“Casey?” Chuck wriggled his shoulders against the mat, which, as he thought about it, was the only maneuver possible at the moment, considering a very sizable – and extremely horny – man was lying over him. Chest, to stomach, to hips, to – Oh, God. 

A very bad idea was jabbing him through a pair of Marine Class A dress slacks. 

“Hmm?” Casey nibbled along his jaw, scraping his warm lips to the edge of his ear.

“Let’s be reasonable here, okay? Someone’s going to notice we’re missing – ah! Casey, no offense – stop that! Get your hand out of there – this is not going work!”

“Just give it a minute. Trust me on that.” The agent didn’t break away, instead pulling Chuck’s collar back to expose more of his shoulder, and sucking lightly before leaving a love bite at the slope of his neck.

“Not funny,” Chuck huffed, forcing himself not to shiver under those moist lips, and the wicked things they were doing at the curve of his nape. “Let me have the keys. Right now.” Squirming, the kid managed to free an arm, and he held out his hand expectantly, waiting to feel the cool metal in this palm.

“Nuh-uh.” 

“What do you mean, ‘no’? They’re waiting for us to – uh.” But his voice quivered, trailing off at the end, and there was no doubt the agent heard his wavering. With Casey laying on him like this, he was surrounded by his scent – cedar and spice and earth – and he could almost taste it, losing himself in the comfort of it, in the amount of power coiled over him. The simple brush of his hand, a course thumb dragging delicately over the hollow of his neck and up to his lips, was having an effect, and it made his pulse quicken to staccato beats. With Casey away… well, he had missed this. The heat and intimacy of his body.

“You don’t want me to anyway.” Casey’s voice was a bare murmur, his eyes drifting over Chuck’s lips –

– right before he threw the keys over his shoulder. They bounced off the front passenger seat and landed in a jangling heap somewhere under the dashboard. 

Chuck’s head popped up, eyes wide and pointed in the direction the keys had flown. “Did you just – why would you do that?!”

“There. You gonna shut the hell up about those now? Because, if you still want them, you’re going to have to crawl up there and find them.”

“But… how am I supposed to get them now?!” 

A warm hand skated over his thigh. “You want up?”

“Is that another trick question? Because, no thanks if it is. That’s how I got here in the first place,” Chuck said. 

“What’re bitching about?” Casey lowered his mouth to scrape over a smooth cheek. “‘Cause, I gotta tell you, sport, you feel like you’re happy where you are right now.” Looking down at him, he grinned slyly – and to bring his point home, Casey squirmed a little over top of him, adjusting his hips, just enough to get their dicks perfectly aligned through the pants. “You like this?”

“… is that your – oh no … we absolutely cannot do this… not here, not now…”

Casey gazed at him and then replied by grinding down again – hard. “Heh. Sorry I have to do this next then,” he whispered hoarsely.

“This? What is this?” In the murkiness of the SUV, he could see that Casey had pulled away, pupils shot, to watch the reaction on his face. “Uh-oh. For the record, I know that look. It usually means – where are your hands, anyway – and don’t try – mmm!” 

But Casey leaned down and corked that argument with another slow kiss; open mouth, warm and messy – which, Chuck figured out one hammering heart beat too late, was only to distract his attention from the tactic his boyfriend was pulling below the waist. 

“Wait!” Chuck’s head snapped back and he broke the kiss. “Ah! What’re you do –?” But before he could sputter out the rest of his protest, or hell, anything for that matter, his hands reflexively latched onto Casey’s shoulders – steadying himself as he felt the world spin sideways and over. 

It took the kid a blink or two, looking at the lazy grin on his handler’s face, to realize Casey had used his knees to clamp down tight on Chuck’s narrow hips, and had flipped them over so that Chuck was now straddling the agent. 

“Give a guy a warning next time!” he gasped. Realizing his fingers were painfully clenched into the flesh of Casey’s shoulders, he loosened them, and sat back, taking advantage of his new perch to survey the parking lot for any unwelcome guests. Well, thank you, God. At least it was still empty. Looking down, he frowned at the smoky blue eyes peering up at him. “I’ve already smacked my head once, you know.”

“Just watch your melon next time, eh, Bartowski?” Casey offered up with a smirk, lips swollen and wet from the earlier kiss. “I don’t want to have to explain to the general how the Intersect got bruised up there.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Why, thank you for your concern, major,” he grumbled. “Now, games are over. Help me find the keys, okay?” Leaning back, he started to climb off of his boyfriend, but he stopped. “Oh, and I have to say, I’m proud of you, big guy.”

“Why is that?”

“This is a first,” he said, letting his hands fall from Casey’s shoulders to drag his fingers along the agent’s angular jaw line. He traced it tenderly. “You came to your senses instead of thinking with that head.” Chuck shifted his hips once, just a bare movement, grinding down where he was straddled.

“Heh. Don’t kid yourself. We’re just getting started, Bartowski.” Clutching Chuck’s hand, Casey tugged it down, guiding it between them. He used his grip to press the kid’s fingers down on his cock, trying to cover as much length as possible, even through those damn dress slacks of his. “You can start here,” he told him.

“You’re crazy, you know that, right? Casey, let go of my hand. I’m up here now, and I’m going to find the keys.”

“Yeah, damn right you’re up there. How can I strip you if you’re wedged under me like a lanky piece of meat, eh?”

The kid’s dark eyes widened and he yanked his hand out of Casey’s grip. “I thought when you – that you were just – you aren’t serious about this?!”

“Off with the jacket, tiger. Let’s go. Gotta hurry. Because your ‘know-it-all’ daddy –”

“– what the hell happened between the two of you, anyway?”

“– and nosy-ass sister – ”

“She’s warming up to you, you know, which even you have to admit is not an easy –”

“– will be out here looking for us. Make it quick, dammit,” he growled. 

“What are you doing?!”

“The jacket. Off.”

And this time, his boyfriend didn’t wait for the river of words and protestations. Snagging the lapels in his fists, Casey yanked, and Chuck felt the tuxedo jacket being pulled down his arms. 

“Be careful with that! It’s not one of the NSA tuxedos, you know. That’s a rental.” 

“Then we don’t want to get anything on it, do we, kiddo?” Casey replied, leering up at him. “Let me put it somewhere safe and out of the way.” Balling up the elegant black overcoat, Casey tossed it to the front – where it would be keeping company with the missing keys, Chuck figured, as he watched it fly over the seat.

“Casey, we can’t just –”

“This is next.”

“What?!”

“The cummerbund. Let’s go.” Casey reached a meaty paw behind Chuck and tapped his ass cheek. “Sit up a little. I need to get back here,” he told him. Sliding his warm palms around Chuck’s waist, he managed to get his fingers around the ribbon. “What the hell… Did you knot it up on purpose, genius?”

“Hey! Just watch those hands.” Chuck tried to wriggle backwards, but he couldn’t move because of the hold around his middle. 

…Okay, okay, and, maybe, he didn’t want to move because his boyfriend’s muscled body was trapped under him… and it felt really really good…. 

“Hold still,” Casey ordered, squinting up at him. “Though… that squirming is working too,” he added with wink. 

“Oh, God. Stop that.” But Casey wasn’t stopping. Those strong hands behind his back were hard at work, and Chuck felt some fumbling and brushing against his waistband as they dug in. “Gah! Careful – what are you doing back there?”

“Chrissakes. How the hell are you supposed to get this off?”

“How about this – not in the back of a vehicle!”

“There, got it.” Casey studied the dreaded cummerbund for a few seconds, and then quirked a brow up at the kid. “Jesus, Bartowski,” he snickered. “You had it on upside down this whole time?”

“What? They have a right side up? I thought it didn’t matter.”

“Pleats side up, Intersect.” Straightening the fabric, he held it up from end to end in front of Chuck’s face. “Think of it this way: I’m doing you a favor, kid. Saved you from embarrassment the rest of the night.”

“Considering the night is now officially over? Geez, thanks, Casey,” he muttered. “I wish you would have told me that before I made a fool –”

“Shirt’s next. Let’s go.” Casey dropped the cummerbund next to Chuck’s leg and fisted his collar, pulling him down so that he could unbutton the shirt.

“Have you ever considered that you may be taking the joke too far, I mean – ah!” Chuck brought up one of his hands to tug back on his dress shirt, but Casey took care of that problem by swatting it out of the way. 

“I said, hold still, dammit.” Despite the darkness, this was barely a test for Casey’s fine motor skills, and the kid watched those large deft hands working their way down his top. There was no fumbling now – hell, Casey had quite a bit of practice at this in the last four months. The storage cage after close, the holding cell at Castle, and – oh God – one time in the armory. He had become an expert at stripping him in places that were, well, not the bedroom.

In a blink, his shirt was open. Casey skimmed his fingertips up the kid’s ribcage, over the sensitive ticklish bare flesh – and stopped. “Not that I’m complaining right now – but mind telling me where the hell your t-shirt is? Why aren’t you wearing one?”

“Well, I… before we left the house…” Chuck felt a red-hot blush climbing up his neck. He blamed it on the stifling air in the SUV.

“I’m listening.” Casey’s hands migrated up to rest on the kid’s bare chest, giving him some long slow sweeps over his pecs before trailing down to his waist. 

“It was hot, okay?” Chuck blurted. “It was getting uncomfortable, and I knew when we got to the church, or worse yet, during the ceremony that it would be –”

“C’mon, you can say it,” Casey chuckled. “Got hot for a man in uniform? You were trying to grab my ass. Remember, Bartowski?” 

“No, that wasn’t it.” Chuck glanced out the window, averting Casey’s eyes. “I didn’t want to –”

“Shut it.” Casey ended his embarrassment by grabbing the collar and forcing the kid’s head down to his. And now, to make it clear what they were working with, he thrust up against Chuck, grinding his hard dick into the front of his pants.

“Casey, this is not –” 

But Casey swallowed the objection by locking his lips on the kid’s, and he thrust up, a little harder this time, giving him an exquisitely slow grind again. 

“Did you hear – oh.” And Chuck couldn’t stop a hungry little noise in his throat. 

“Thought you might wanna do your sister a favor,” the agent mumbled against Chuck’s mouth, catching his bottom lip with the edge of his teeth. He tugged it, and Chuck’s lips burned with Casey’s taste.

The kid started to return the kiss, but after a second or two, he pulled back. “Hmmm? Wait a minute.” The raw enjoyment of his arousal had to be affecting his hearing, because … was Casey talking about his sister – now? “A favor for Ellie? What … do you mean by that?” 

“Forget I said it.” Casey thrust up, then dragged his hips back and forth over the kid’s crotch.

Control evaporated like mist, and instinct took over. Chuck couldn’t help the dirty wanton squirming in reply. “Oh, th-that’s not really an answer, Casey,” the kid managed, closing his eyes. Squeezing his knees against Casey’s outer thighs, he grinded down on him in an uncoordinated maneuver. Just once, and then, we’ll stop, okay?

Casey grunted in appreciation, nibbling on his lip, hot breath on his mouth.

Okay, two tall men folded into the back of an SUV during a wedding reception was not going to go down in the books as the smartest move ever. 

Not that either seemed to mind or notice at the moment. 

…Because Casey’s cock was lined up to his, their dicks were sliding against each other, meeting each other’s tight strokes and grinds… 

Oh, and right there. Even the accidental smack of their kneecaps was worth it when he heard Casey growl in approval of his efforts.

“Yeah… nice…do that again,” Casey suggested, his lips brushing Chuck’s ear. “Not the part where you crack my knee, kid. The other thing you did, eh?”

The last tiny flicker of common sense hit Chuck between the eyes and he disengaged. “Wait. Wait, before you – ah – try that again, I need you to answer something.” Chuck reached down and latched onto Casey’s hips, trying to hold him still so that he could actually think. “What did you say about Ellie a minute ago?”

Casey pushed the kid’s hands out of the way and ran his fingers down Chuck’s thighs, clenching into them. “I meant that I noticed your sister and your old man went out to the patio,” he said, rubbing his thumb over Chuck’s waistband. “Looks like they were having one of those sappy heart-to-heart moments. Maybe clearing the air between them.” Casey swept his palms under the kid’s shirt, up to his waist, and dug his fingers into the smooth flesh. “Maybe you want to get out of the way and give them a chance to … talk.”

“Oh…”

“– and do this instead.”

“Wait… wait… wh-what’s this?”

“This.”

Splaying his fingers wide, Casey used the grip on Chuck’s middle to steer him down, grind him into his length … their cocks slid together as Casey thrust up, giving him a rub back and forth…

“…oh fuck…” Chuck couldn’t help but groan at this, because like that – it was exactly what they would be doing if they were fucking. “Oh shit, that’s good.”

“Have some more.” 

“No… no, I didn’t mean – oh fuck right there – wait! Uh, not that it isn’t … really good – but I mean, tell me what you saw again.” Disengaging one leg from the side of Casey’s thigh, he pulled back and sat up a little. He needed to put some distance between their bodies and finish his question without a two hundred and thirty pound distraction under him. “My dad and my sister?”

“Yeah. My job is to notice things, remember?”

“You saw them together?” the kid asked, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he looked down at Casey. “That’s great news… my sister, my dad – if only they could –”

“Damn right it’s great news,” Casey muttered. “Two Bartowskis babbling and sorting out their feelings? That means we have at least twenty or thirty minutes of a cushion to finish this mission.” And in case there was any doubt on the new mission parameters, Casey dropped one of his hands between the kid’s legs and rubbed his knuckles lightly up and down over the bulge in his pants. “Just remember, kiddo.” Swish. “Your daddy, McClure… all of them hanging around tomorrow will make little Chuck a lonely boy for a while.” Swish.

“Little?” Swish.

“Maybe not so little…” Swish.

“Oh… shit… you are a rotten bastard, you know that…?”

In reply, Casey licked the pad of his thumb, getting it good and wet, and reached into his open shirt front, dragging it over the hard nub of one of Chuck’s nipples. “When I do that, you mean?” he asked, pleased that Chuck’s eyes had drifted closed, and he bit down on his bottom lip.

“…oh god…” 

“C’mon…” Casey urged, raking his fingernails over Chuck’s bare chest. “Quick one. Promise.”

Well, that’s all it took. His resolved crumbled like cinders into fire. 

Opening his eyes to dart a look out the window again – no late guests lingering about, and better yet, no family members – Chuck started to peel off his shirt. “Okay… crap, okay. I must the world’s biggest idiot to agree to this, but what the hell? Just… make it – uh– fast…?”

“Yeah, good thinking, Bartowski,” Casey smirked. Getting in one more greedy pinch on his nipple, the agent wrapped his fist around Chuck’s hands and stopped him from stripping off the crisp – though now somewhat wrinkled – tuxedo shirt.

Chuck huffed in annoyance at having his hands restrained. Slanting a look down, he pulled back cautiously, but gave up. “Now what?”

“Leave the shirt on, open like that,” Casey told him, his tongue stuck between his teeth, watching the kid’s baffled face. “I like it. And, it’s faster that way.” Tugging the sleeves back over Chuck’s shoulders, he grinned up at him, slow and dirty. 

“Oh, I get it.” Chuck leaned across him so that his hands were propped on either side of Casey’s head. “You’re in the mood for the debonair and worldly Charles Carmichael tonight, is that right, Major Casey?” The kid had assumed a fake haughty accent, and beamed down at his boyfriend with a goofy grin.

Casey grunted, humored by this. “Sorry, kid. I wasn’t looking for the superspy tonight, and besides… the mop head and idiot grin are a dead giveaway.” 

“Hey! That was my best Sean Connery imitation.”

“Eh,” Casey replied succinctly. “I was thinking … with that shirt, mmm, like this?” and he ran his fingers down the placket, still watching Chuck’s face. “Yeah, this’ll work just fine.” Angling his head to the side, he grabbed one of Chuck’s hands and encircled the kid’s wrist. In a flash, he tugged it down until the kid’s palm was positioned on his belt buckle. “You remind me of the big-eyed but… innocent nerd that has come to my door…to fix my computer.”

Chuck blinked. “Hmm? Are you kid –?” As the suggestion registered, his eyes sprung open, and the kid stared at Casey in shock …

… really trying not to notice his navy blue dress jacket, now open to reveal a t-shirt stretched taut over his chest, blue eyes gleaming up at him… the hard on poking his leg…

Oh this is bad very bad look away look away….

“Fix your … oh no. No, no, no, no…” Chuck sputtered, leaning back and pulling his hand away. “Here? This is a terrible idea!”

“Yeah, skittish… I like it. That’s good thinking, Bartowski…” Casey told him. “Now, do the rest, okay?” 

“Now?! In the back of a – you are completely nuts, you know that? Someone’s going to hear us!” 

“– yeah, good… just pick it up at the part where you come to the door – kinda nervous like that…”

“Oh my god oh my god…”

Casey cut off the babble by slipping his arms around Chuck’s middle and dragging him down, laying the kid on top of him. “It’s about damn time you got your ass here,” he grumbled, moving his mouth to give Chuck a little nip under his jaw. 

“– are you listening to me?”

“I called yesterday to get one of you nerds over here.” Casey went for the tender spot behind his ear – the one that made him weak kneed – and sucked down on his skin, looping his warm tongue in a perfect little circle. “Right there, huh? You like that…” Casey suggested. And, taking Chuck’s hand, he entwined their long fingers and guided it between their bodies, pressing his palm over Casey’s hard dick still trapped in his pants.

“– now, I may have agreed to – well, you know, but not the other –”

“– Mmm, feel that, sport?” Holding his hand around Chuck’s fingers, he skimmed their palms upward and then down.

“Casey…” The kid didn’t try to pull back though, and the second time up and down, Chuck got into it. Squeezing just under the crown, he brushed his thumb over the hard ridge that was poking through the fabric. 

The light touch made Casey inhale sharply. “Yeah… that’s good. So, you gonna fix my problem or not?”

Chuck swallowed hard, his hearing muffled by the sound of his own breathing and his heart rattling in his chest. Sensing the kid was on the brink of indecision, Casey helped him out by twisting his palm and curling his thick fingers against the kid’s cock and squeezing lightly. He returned the favor, giving Chuck even strokes down the front of his pants, sweeping his thumb over the bulge.

Oh shit… maybe Casey had a point here… right? Ellie was out on the patio with his dad, and they certainly had a lot to discuss…. Didn’t they? 

Chuck repeated the mantra to himself, the words echoing in the far corner of his head that still had two functioning brain cells.

Because those last two brain cells were screaming that this was a terrible, raunchy, god-awful, idea… 

…and then, oh fuck. Casey did that crazy thing with his hand again.

“God, C-Casey, these pants have to go…” Chuck rasped. Okay, so maybe that was off script. Probably not the line Casey expected from the nervous innocent nerd waiting to serve his burly pissed-off customer. But, would he really complain when the kid followed it with an instinctive hard grind down into Casey’s hand?

“I’ll tell you when, nerd,” Casey rumbled, brushing his palm on the outside of Chuck’s pants one more time – and not holding back a devilish grin that Chuck was folding under the damn good kind of pressure. “C’mon. Do it.”

“Are you sure they were out on the – oh god oh god…”

“Push down like that again…” Casey responded. “That was good.”

Chuck heard a small frustrated sound – oh God – and tightened his throat so that wouldn’t happen again. “– really bad idea – ah – right there –” 

“Like that?” Casey kissed him, a long slow caress of lips… and it felt freaking incredible when he did that twist and swish again with those strong fingers and oh crap no …

“Uh… howcanIhelpyousir?”

“Mmm, that’s better.” Casey breathed heat up against Chuck’s neck. “Now, that’s the service I expect from you geeks. Because, you see kid: I’ve had a problem all day.”

With that, the customer released his nerd’s middle, and folded his hands under his head, peering up at the kid with a sly grin.

“Well, I might be able to help you.” Chuck bit down on his mouth to stop the crooked smile. Hoisting himself up, he repositioned his ass on Casey’s hips, careful not to crush his – er, equipment malfunction that was jabbing into the kid’s upper thigh. “You have an emergency, sir?” 

“Damn right.” Casey eyed him, cheeks flushed, his tongue resting on his bottom lip.

“How long has your hard drive been in that condition?” Chuck asked, and shifting on his knees, he brushed his inner thigh alongside the device in question. Okay, so maybe it was clumsy being cramped like this, but Casey’s eyes had momentarily drifted shut when the contact was there, and the agent – oh, wait, bad ass customer – wasn’t complaining about it.

“It’s been like this off and on since earlier today… since I was up in my bedroom, and my boyfriend was playing coy. Wasn’t willing to fix it at the time.”

“He didn’t … take care of your problem?” Chuck frowned, applying another firm brush with his thigh. 

“mmmyeah…” Casey let out a breath and opened his eyes. “Little bastard, am I right?” he said, his voice scratchy. “And later, he called me a government whore.”

“Which he is really sorry about, by the way.”

Casey’s brow quirked up at annoyance with the slip out of character, but underneath, the kid saw a flicker of recognition for the apology. He glimpsed up at Chuck’s remorseful brown eyes for a few beats, grazing his fingers over the soft skin on his stomach, before pretending to ignore it. “So, kid, do you think you have the tools to fix it?”

“I don’t know...” Chuck rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “It sounds like I’ll have to get a closer inspection of the problem before I can make a full detailed diagnosis, sir,” and he swept his hands up from Casey’s waist and snatched the collar of his jacket. “I’m going to have to take the cover off first to get a good look.” 

“Can you do that without screwing it up?” Casey smirked, sitting up on his elbows. He then obediently straightened his arms one at a time so that Chuck could remove the dress jacket.

“I think I’ve had enough practice,” Chuck assured him, trying not to smile. Because, stripping Casey, taking his time to work down his fly or pull off his shirt, had become one of his favorite past times, right up there with spending time on the computer.

“Prove it.”

Fighting a smile, the kid tugged on the bottom of the sleeves and tossed the jacket to the side. It was a little challenging to think with the poke of Casey’s libido against his leg as an insistent reminder, but he finally gave in to the temptation, and did one thing he had wanted to do since Casey unbuttoned his jacket. Slanting down, the kid rested his hands on Casey’s chest, feeling the roll and bunch of hard muscle under his fingers. “Nice equipment,” he commented softly. “You must – uh… what’s …?” 

Something had caught his eye, something he hadn’t noticed before – dark lettering stretched over the front of Casey’s shirt.

“What the hell?” Casey griped. “Why’d you stop?”

“Your shirt. What does that say?” Chuck screwed up his eyes at the inscription stretched over Casey’s top that was hiding under his jacket. Then, the kid gaped. “Does that – what the… You gave me crap about not wearing a t-shirt, and you’re wearing that at my sister’s wedding?!” Chuck squeaked. “’Real Snipers Can Shoot it Far’? Are you kidding me with this?”

Peeved, Casey rolled his eyes at the complete departure from the role of nervous compliant Nerd Herder, but after a moment, he gave in with an answer. “Think about it, Bartowski. Who’s gonna see it besides you?” He brushed his fingertips up the sensitive skin of Chuck’s rib cage. “Huh, literally … right, nerd?

“That’s disgusting. What if my sister saw that?!”

“Don’t you have a repair to diagnose?”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“How about this,” Casey reached up and tugged on the open edge of his shirt, forcing Chuck to bend down over him. “So far, kid, your service… sucks.” 

Big Brain aside, it was not lost on the kid that Casey had placed heavy emphasis on the final word in that statement.

Chuck crinkled his brow and wrestled the hem of his shirt out of Casey’s fingers. “Okay… I guess. Let me take off the top cover and see what we have here, sir.” Before going on, the half ounce of better judgment he clung to forced him to look out the window. Still clear. Then, gazing down with a grin he couldn’t hold back, Chuck dragged the shirt up over Casey’s stomach and broad chest until he came to a roadblock. “Sit up, will you?”

“Damn bossy for a customer service rep, aren’t you? Or did you forget?” But Casey indulged him by arching up from the mat and letting Chuck lift the t-shirt over his head. “I thought you were here to take care of my emergency – not to give orders,” he said, tucking his hands under his head again.

“I was just, uh, trying to … oh.” Chuck blinked down at him in the dark. Okay, Casey had to know what that position looked like from Chuck’s vantage point, straddled on top of him, looking down into those blazing blue eyes… the way he crooked his arm, making his biceps bulge out like that, his broad bare chest rising and falling evenly…

“Well?”

“Uh… I’m most definitely not seeing a problem here, sir. Everything looks to be –” and Chuck took a break to massage his fingertips into Casey’s pecs, “– in working order. Admirable, even.” Beaming a lopsided smile, he lowered his head in an attempt to sneak a wet kiss.

Casey put a palm in the middle of the kid’s chest to stop him. “Nuh-uh. You haven’t lifted the cover off the bottom yet.”

“Soooo, we’re playing that way…” He glanced down at the warm hand pressed to his bare chest, knowing it would be impossible to budge past it and dive in for the kiss. “Alright. The bottom cover, you say, sir?”

“That’s right, kid. This is where I have the problem,” Casey said. “Lemme show you, eh?” The agent reached around him and playfully slapped Chuck on the ass. “Lift it,” he commanded with another swat.

“Yes, sir.” Chuck was a little off balance, but managed to reposition himself. “Let me help.”

Now, there was no reason to let your boyfriend pull his pants down all by himself, Chuck thought, when you can get right in there and help out. Take one for the team. Propping up on his knees, he let Casey work the button and zipper, but pushed his hands out of the way when he saw the agent start to shimmy out of his pants. 

“Uh, no, no, no. As your Nerd Herd customer service representative, sir, it is my job to remove this,” Chuck said. “Besides, I should remind you that you’re paying me by the hour to do this.” 

Casey eyeballed him for a long moment, his eyes getting that lust-glazed look. “Alright, kid. I’ll watch,” he told him, his voice as rough as grit.

The kid was careful to give tall clearance where required – a pull here, lifting there, and the boxers were jerked down to his knees along with the pants.

And, holy shit… How the hell was that not ripping a hole in the front of those dress slacks?

Chuck cleared his throat dramatically. “I think I’ve found your problem, Mister Scary-Burly-Customer.”

“Don’t give a shit if you found it, kid. The question is, can ya’ fix it?”

Fix it? The kid’s eyes went shut; just to enjoy the bolt of arousal that had flooded his system. He learned early in this crazy relationship, under the guise of studies that took place first in the interrogation room with the surveillance disabled, and later when Casey took him to his own bed, that the sight of his boyfriend standing at attention was a chemical reaction. He swallowed, trying to fight back the feel of his cock getting rock-hard in his pant leg… because there was nothing he could do about that right now.

He was so going to make Casey spurt for doing this to him.

Dragging the pants down his long calves, Chuck tossed them to the side, and crawled back up his legs. Not as far this time, stopping when he straddled the agent’s knees.

“Well?” Casey asked, zeroing in on Chuck’s hand that was resting on his knee. “You gonna fix it now?”

“I may need to take a look at the manual.” 

“Bartowski.” Chuck’s dark eyes flew up to see a wanton, restless look on Casey face. The look that said ‘speed it the hell up’. 

“Uh, okaaay.” The kid swept his hands higher up Casey’s thighs, the wiry sparse hairs tickling his palms. “I’ve never encountered one quite this –”

“Stiff?”

“I was going to say enabled for such a dense storage capacity.”

“Heh. You may need to get down there and get a closer look, then.” Without waiting for Chuck to blurt out another line, Casey grabbed one of his hands and circled Chuck’s fingers around his equipment, wrapping them under his fist. “Yeah,” he breathed, dragging their hands over the hard flesh, slow and then speeding up… but he stopped after a few strokes and loosened his grip – waiting to let Chuck’s instincts take over. 

And they did. Curling his fingers, the kid began to pump up and down without Casey steering, giving him some long slow swipes. 

“That’s – uh –” But whatever the kid was getting ready to say got muddled in his head, because Chuck was too focused on his hand – gripping and squeezing lightly, enough to feel Casey thrusting up into it. He wanted to get lost in the touch; hard, yet pliant and silky under his fingers. 

Hungry to get more of a reaction out of Casey, the kid swept the pad of his thumb over the slit, smearing pre-come over the tip; a slippery, grazing touch. Casey’s eyes fell to half mast when he did this, and the kid heard a low moan the agent couldn’t repress.

“Well,” Chuck said, letting Casey bring his hand up again, wrapping it around his to steer it with even strokes. “It seems to be functioning properly. Maybe I won’t need the manual this ti –”

“Manual says to get it wet.”

“Soooo, you attempted to fix this on your own before?”

Casey snorted. “That’s why I have you nerds,” he said. “Trust me kid, it said very specifically to make it wet.”

“That may be more than routine maintenance for this type of component, sir,” the kid said and tried to pull his hand back, but Casey had a grip locked down over his fingers, keeping his dick skidding up and down Chuck’s palm. And feeling the slickness that had spread along Casey’s length, the friction… well, it only made Chuck’s boner more unbearable – as if that was even possible. Chuck swallowed hard again. “I should probably check the –”

“Wait. What the hell ever happened to ‘the customer is always right’?” Casey kept up with the short pulls into Chuck’s hand for half a minute, thrusting up a little bit harder. “…oh shit… like that… I like your hands, kid,” he added under his breath. 

“This service is … unconventional, Mister Scary Customer,” Chuck smiled, almost dizzy that Casey was utterly debauched by this; that he was the reason for it. “I’m not certain our pricing matrix comprehends this type of hands on tune-up.”

“… mmm…” Casey dragged in a huge breath, drove a couple more strokes against his palm, and released his hand slowly. Then, arching his back to reposition and settle in, Casey tilted his chin down to eye him with a predatory gleam. “You heard me. Get it wet. You want to, right, kid?” his voice dropped, a low urging more than a question.

“Wet, you say, Mister Customer?” Chuck ran his hands down Casey’s thighs, grinning at him again. “I only hope we can avoid an electrical surge or sparks?”

“Can’t promise that, nerd. Now get down there…” Casey told him. 

“Yes, sir.” Chuck bit back the crooked grin this time, and gave him a mock salute instead. Scooting backwards on his haunches, the kid put his hands on either side of Casey’s hips, staring straight into his rigid – um – hard drive.

“Hmmph. You were right about one thing.” Chuck lowered his head, nosing around Casey’s inner thigh, before mischievously leaving one fluid stripe with his tongue upward, stopping at his hip. Very deliberately, he turned his head towards Casey’s shaft and let out a long warm exhalation, knowing Casey would feel it brushing his length. “The up-close view from here is … informative.” And freaking spectacular. The kid followed this up with a lick over Casey’s lower belly; he got a whiff of soap and clean sweat. “Reveals quite a bit about your equipment problem.” 

Casey reflexively strained a thrust that rubbed Chuck in the hollow of his neck. “The last nerd I had here knew where to put that. Just sayin’.’”

“Oh?” Chuck puckered up his mouth, squinting up at him. “Did he know how to do this?”

“What – oh….fuck.” He heard Casey’s head land with a thunk against the mat.

The first time he had done this to Casey, or more aptly, for Casey, it had been… well, a little intimidating to say the least. That first night four months ago, it had been a perplexing array of new experiences that had engulfed the kid all at once; a whole host of firsts in his life that took place in one sweltering night.

The first time Casey had taken him to his bed. Check.

The first time he held a man’s erect penis that did not belong to him. Check, again.

The first time a man had sucked him off, made him come in his mouth.

The first time he had touched his lips to a man’s cock. That too.

But that night? Who would’ve guessed that John Casey, under that sarcastic brusque shell, could be patient, even gentle with him? 

That night was also the first time Chuck got a glimpse into the blistered depth of the man. For the first time, there were no rules; no walls or inhibitions forged between them. Just Casey … letting Chuck take his time, figure it out. Letting him use his lips and his fingers to explore, and experiment; to try what he wanted to do, what he wanted to touch. And Casey let him do it. Hell, he had laid there like a willing, albeit approving, test subject that night while the kid discovered each nick and scar, each hard angle and swell of muscle tissue under his warm fingertips.

But tonight, there was none of that hesitation. Licking his bottom lip, Chuck bent over him, put his tongue against the crown and twirled, loose and easy, around the ridge. He worked up some saliva, did what Casey wanted, asked for. Getting it wet. Tasting him in the back of his throat. 

Chuck didn’t go straight down on it yet. Maybe it was a little crazy, but he had found early on that he liked to draw this part out, listen to those broken noises hitching in Casey’s chest. Torment him just a little. Cupping his mouth, rounding it to the side of his shaft, he slid down and back up again. Now, there it was – did Casey even know he was doing that? That his dick strained up towards his mouth when he did this….he did it again to be sure… swirled his tongue along the silky skin at the crown, letting it make small loops along the impossibly sensitive surface right under the ridge. 

Casey growled. 

“Sir, I think I found your problem.”

The agent tipped his head down with a pissed-off look, one that told Chuck he was now doing the wrong thing with his mouth. “What the hell is that?”

“You see, when I do this,” and Chuck sunk down, swished the broad crown with his tongue, “it makes that sound.”

“…fuck…” As if on cue, there was a rumbling in his chest. When Chuck stopped, Casey’s eyes sprung open. “What sound are you babbling about?”

“Well… a growling sound.”

“Heh. Like what?”

The kid smiled at that trick but played along. “Like this.”

Chuck obliged by dragging down the surface again, making a wet noise, sucking along his cock on the way back up. And letting go, relaxing into it, he moaned around Casey erection, feeling a little swell and twitch against his tongue when he did it.

“There. There’s that sound again,” Chuck said, wiping some saliva from the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck. It’s supposed to make that sound. Do it again.”

“Well,” Chuck drew it out, running his thumb around the crown and over the slit, “I can’t be held liable for anything that happens if I do that again.”

“…mmm…yeah, like that…” Casey breathed out and Chuck saw his Adam’s apple bob. “No worries, kid. I’ll take full responsibility for … what’s about to happen to my equipment.” His words were liquid smoke by now. “Get it wet again.

Figuring he had taken it far enough, Chuck immediately complied. He dragged his lips along the side of his shaft, painting a wet lick from the thick base to the tip… swirling his tongue, curling it under the head and looping it against the tiny little indent there. Really tasting him, noticing the feel of the smooth but veined skin against his mouth.

Casey growled deep, a growl of impatience and pleasure balled up in one, and when he heard it, the kid tilted his chin up just to catch a quick glance of his face. The man never let his guard down, but Chuck had learned there’s a piercingly raw moment, right before he gets to the brink – long limbs sprawled, wholly unraveled – when he peels back under the layers – revealing his hidden elements, his crux.

Right there. 

“…c’mon…” Casey said hoarsely. “… do it…”

This time, Chuck sunk straight down on his cock, taking it until he felt the signal and his throat tightened in the back. Far enough, and intuitively he pulled away to go down again. Taking his time again, swishing his tongue and giving him attention. God, it felt good to do this, to hear those harsh noises over his head, forcing the low rumble out of him.

“…Yeah, that’s… you like it… like it there…” Casey murmured. “…wanna do this for me, don’t ya’ kid?”

Another thing he had discovered along the way… dirty talk from Casey’s mouth was… well, goddamn hot and filthy and perfect.

The rigid silky-tight skin along his lips, the heat and wet on his tongue – Chuck got into this, lost himself in just the act of it. It was so simple…. working his way slowly back up, down again, applying suction by drawing his cheeks in on the way up…

Casey’s long body repositioning under him, and the kid felt a warm palm, rubbing the back of his neck, massaging the muscles before coasting up to thread long fingers through his hair. It was a caress, but it also held him in place, nudging his head down to meet Casey’s hips thrusting up towards his mouth. 

“…oh fuck… that’s it….” Casey established a rhythm, nudging and surging up. “…yeah… keep it like that…lemme fuck your mouth...”

Chuck felt his belly clench and writhe at the order, hearing what Casey wanted – hell, demanded – from him. He responded by digging his fingertips into the flesh of Casey’s thigh, and went down slow, riveting his attention only on the taste and texture against his tongue… even suction, taking the curved shaft past his lips, letting Casey use his strong grip in his curls to control the depth. 

After an embarrassing incident or two that first time, Casey seemed to figure out exactly how much Chuck could take without giving up an awkward gag or choke, so the kid only had to concentrate on keeping his teeth out of the way and the movement of his tongue, curling along the length as he took it up and down.

And holy hell, it still made him wonder when this happened: when did he realize that sucking off Casey, having a man’s dick in his mouth, made his own dick gunmetal hard? That he gets off on this? 

Okay, don’t think about that right now. 

“…Keep doing that… just like that…” Casey growled, his hard breaths getting ragged, stuttering.

Chuck could read his boyfriend’s signals; the way his thrusting became jerky, almost uncoordinated, the nudge on the back of his head getting more insistent, and he threw himself into the rhythm… enjoying the obscene sounds, Casey’s murmurs of approval ….

Not that Chuck was using a stopwatch or anything, but Casey wasn’t kidding around when he said ‘quickie’, because right about now …

Oh.

Casey froze. The hand tangled in Chuck’s curls tightened, on the verge of a painful tug – well, it would’ve hurt if he tried to move his head, but the kid was held still with several achy inches breaching his lips. The agent’s hips surged off the floor, his dick twitched, once, then again, and Casey rumbled a string of filthy low curses, and Chuck might’ve heard his name once or twice.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Chuck let him do it. Let him hold him there steady, let him thrust to the cusp of discomfort, and Chuck waited, then cupped his tongue as the fluid, briny and slick, pooled at the back of his mouth. He held his head right there, listened to Casey groan, felt those strong fingers clench into the back of his head. 

“…good boy… Like that, huh?”

Well, that used to miff him a little, but he had gotten used to it. 

The other thing he had learned by now; Casey liked to take his time, draw it out, slow and long…..giving a couple more lazy thrusts into his mouth… 

Finally, Chuck felt the warm palm in his hair loosen and slide across his neck. With the back of his knuckles, Casey gently pressed against Chuck’s chin. 

“You can let go now,” he chuckled. “Here. Use this.”

The kid’s eyes were watery, bleary, his brain a hazy soup, but he blinked and focused on the thing Casey was holding up in front of his face.

Was that … the cummerbund?

“C’mon, take it. Unless you changed your mind – your position on this subject,” he added with a wry grin.

“Mmmph!”

“What the hell, Bartowski. Think about it; it’s a cummerbund, for Chrissakes. What else is it gonna be used for?”

Impelling logic aside, the kid saw that his options were next to nothing at the moment, so he nabbed it out of Casey’s hand with a flourish, and discreetly emptied his mouth into it. 

“That was a rental, you know,” Chuck groused, using the other side of the silk fabric to wipe his mouth. “Totally your fault if I lose my security deposit.”

“That’s no way to talk to a pissed-off customer,” Casey said, watching him with amusement as Chuck tossed aside the swath. 

“Really?” Chuck cocked his head at him, suspicious. “I thought … soooo, you had a problem with the service, sir?”

“Damn right I did.”

“That’s funny, Mister Customer. I swear I heard you say, ‘keep doing th –”

“Not what I meant,” Casey cut in, wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead… and when he glanced at the kid, the agent was wearing the look that Chuck didn’t quite trust.

“Hmm?”

“This is what I meant.” Sitting up, he snagged Chuck’s forearm and tugged him over his body until the kid was lying next to Casey. 

“Hey, easy, easy,” Chuck said. “I need that arm to fix computers, you know.” He had half expected that Casey was dragging him up so that he could lie down on top of him. But, instead, the agent scooched over and made room for Chuck’s lanky body. Putting a hand on his bare chest, he pressed Chuck down so that he was flat on his back. 

Chuck shuffled his shoulders – something was digging into the small of his back – and then he raised a brow inquisitively at the agent. “Can you explain the level of service that didn’t meet your needs?”

“Your bosses,” Casey grumbled, and he propped himself up on an elbow to loom over the kid, gazing down at him with smoky eyes. “Morons.”

“Uh, explain?” 

“They sent me a nerd with the same damn equipment failure I had,” Casey said. “Maybe I should take a look at that.”

Chuck started to open his mouth, but Casey shut him up with a bruising, hot kiss. Wasting no time, his hands roamed down the kid’s arms, and when he reached his wrists, Casey clamped down on them. With one fist, he pinned them over Chuck’s head, and pulled back from the kiss.

Chuck’s breath was shallow; his heart rate had kicked into high gear again. “I’m obligated to t-tell you, sir, that customer’s handling of employee equipment is – mmnm.” He could only whimper when Casey tucked the fingers of his free hand around Chuck’s belt buckle, and swiped a coarse thumb over his lower belly. “I was going to say … oh God… a violation of Buy More policy.”

Keeping Chuck’s wrists pinned over his head, Casey used his other hand to strip him bare. “We’re going to break the rules here,” he rumbled against Chuck’s mouth. “Are you okay with that, nerd?”

“I …uh…”

“Good answer.” Casey already had the belt off anyway, and was in the process of tugging Chuck’s pants and boxers past his hips. “I suppose this is a violation of your policy too?” Off went the black dress socks next.

“Oh God, yes, I can assure you this is very much in violation of our Buy More policies – oh…” Casey brushed his hand up Chuck’s thigh, and didn’t stop until he had dragged the tips of his fingers up the kid’s length in a light teasing touch. “Th-that is too.”

“Yeah, right here, feel that? I found your problem.” Casey took hold of him, gripping the hard shaft, and let his palm skid up and down the length. “See, you’ve got your own hard drive issues, kid. Want me to take care of that for you…?”

“Oh… God… that’s really… it feels … Ca-sey.” Chuck thrust up into his hand, feeling his cock slide against Casey’s fingers in a dry-rough friction. It still unglued him, remembering the first time Casey did this for him. That he knew exactly the way he liked it. 

“Wanna fuck my fist?” Casey gave him some longs pulls, sliding up and down, with his eyes locked on Chuck’s face, soaking up every twitch of his reaction. “And I don’t even charge by the hour for this,” he chuckled, gravelly. 

Chuck couldn’t help it; he moaned and arched up into his hand. “…oh fuck …” he muttered in a whispered plea. His head tipped back reflexively, and his eyes drifted shut, centering all of his senses on the freaking incredible things Casey was doing with his hands.

“Yeah, you like it… fuck into it. Just like that.” The kid could barely hear Casey over his deep shuddering breaths and the rush of air in his ears. When he opened his eyes to slits, the agent was leaning over him with his tongue caught between his teeth, an intent observer watching Chuck lift his hips off the floor to thrust into his hand. “C’mon,” Casey’s voice was rough, his hand feeding him short even strokes, making the friction unbearably perfect. “You wanna, right?”

“…God…Casey…” His mind couldn’t form an answer to Casey’s question – well, coherently, anyway. Chuck was on the razor sharp precipice and falling fast. Squishy and blank and numb. There were no nagging thoughts of the crazy week; misunderstandings or the sour tang of distrust. There were no thoughts of his dad. Not a speck in his mind revolved around Orion… the Intersect… the wedding.

Only his boyfriend’s long muscular body lying next to him, the air humid and thick like warmed honey. Oh, God, and his fist… doing unholy and sublime things to him…

Then, the kid squeezed his eyes shut. He felt his jaw go taut, his teeth clenched, and he hissed, long and low. 

“… mmm …yeah, like that…” Casey said, leaning down to press his lips to Chuck’s dark waves over his ear. “Do it.” 

Chuck listened, and did what Casey wanted him to do, what he was watching and waiting for. Groaning, arching into him, he strained to twist his wrists free – and a heartbeat later, a stream squirted, thin and milky, onto his upper thigh. 

“Oh. That’s just … oh shit…” Chuck forced his hips up with artless, erratic thrusts into Casey’s hand, letting his boyfriend hold him, finish him with a few pulsing strokes.

A half minute passed, and the kid slowly opened his eyes to peer up at Casey, before looking down at his leg. “You’re not going to charge me for this are you?” he asked, a loose, lopsided grin sliding onto his face.

“Oh, you’ll be paying,” Casey assured him, bending his head to drop a kiss on his lips. With one last squeeze on his wrists still pinned over his head, Casey released him and sat up. “Where’d your damn cummerbund go, anyway? Looks like we could make some use of it again,” he smirked.

Chuck rolled his eyes at him. “Gross, Casey. Just gross…” Angling his head to see if there was anything else close by he could use, he spotted the cardboard box. “Hey… Honey may have done us a favor after all,” Chuck said.

“What do you mean?” Casey asked, still looking for the silk cummerbund.

“Her Wedding Crisis Kit is in that box. And, I think I saw her put some wet wipes in there.”

“And I suppose you want me to fetch ‘em for you – and clean up your mess, kid?”

“Well… it’s only fair. You did have a hand in making it.” Chuck was still flat on his back, but it didn’t stop him from looking up and waggling his brows at the agent. 

Casey grunted, not amused. He did, however, climb over Chuck and begin digging through the carton, intent on fishing out the wipes. 

“Can you stop your whining now?” Casey said, handing them off.

Chuck thought about it, and then stuck out his tongue.

“Ready for another service call already, nerd?” Casey snickered.

“Ha.” Ending it on that note, the kid sat up on his elbows, his muscles still feeling a bit watery, and wiped up the mess without further complaint.

By then, Casey was already groping in the dark for his pants. Crawling over Chuck, he snagged a pair of socks and tried to sit up in the cramped space and put them on. 

“Hey, wait,” Chuck said. “Those might be mine. Do they have – ow! You just kicked me!”

“Move your damn leg, Bartowski. I’m trying to find my pants.”

“I am too, you know, so … ah! Watch the arm.” On a good day, Chuck felt incredibly clumsy and gawky, but getting dressed in the back of a darkened SUV only magnified his gracelessness a thousand times over. But of course, it didn’t seem to bother Casey. Chuck watched him out of the corner of his eye, amazed by his catlike and slick movements in such a tight space. 

“How can pants just disappear?” Chuck asked, feeling around on the floor. “Are you sure this isn’t your idea of a jo –”

“Chuck? Are you … in there?” 

Oh, no. That voice came from right outside the SUV. A familiar feminine voice, laced with concern. 

“Oh, fuck – I don’t believe this,” Casey mumbled under his breath.

“Shhhh! She’ll hear you. Oh crap oh crap… Is that Ellie? I thought you said she was out on the patio with my dad!”

“She was… hell, I don’t know, about an hour ago.”

“But you said –!”

“Yeah, well, that ‘brutally honest’ game we were playing expired when we left the can.”

“Expir –? Pants!” Chuck hissed, now panicked as he fumbled in the dark for his missing clothes. “Where’re my pants! What did you do with them?”

“Hell, they’re right here, for Chrissakes.” 

“Did you say ‘an hour ago’?! Of course they were going to come looking for us! What is the matter with you?”

“Chuck? Is that – where are you?”

“Oh, hell. Get it over with and answer her, sport. The woman is a damn Rottweiler. She’s not gonna give up.”

“I hate you sometimes.” The kid swallowed and forced a soothing, calm inflection in his voice. “Uh, sis? I… I’m back here. Be right out!”

“Oh?” she replied, squinting at the tinted window.

“’Be right out’?” Chuck almost slapped his forehead but he was too busy untangling a pant leg. “Did I really say ‘be right out’? Oh my God! She’s going to know!”

“Get off my leg, will ya’, Bartowski. I need to get my pants on too, you know.”

“Ow! You just kicked me again!” 

“Well, find another place for those gangly legs. Wait. Are these my pants or yours?”

“Do they have the little – oh, God, those are mine.”

“Wondered why I could only get’ em up to my knee caps. Here. Take these.”

“Chuck? What is going on? Are you okay? Should I… go find Casey?”

“Oh, no problem, El. Really! He’s in here – ah… oh crap!”

“Sonovabitch! Did you really just tell her I was in here with you? Jesus, Bartowski! You blew the op!”

“He’s in there…? With … you?”

“This is all your family’s fault,” Casey muttered. “Cock blockers … every damn last one of ‘em, kid.” The agent grappled with his pants and shoved his legs in, yanking them up to his hips. “Don’t you forget this.”

“You’re the one who thought this was –”

“T-shirt … where’d the ‘nerd’ put it?”

“Right over… well, it was somewhere over here – whoa!”

“Yeah… you keep your hand there, and round two will be taking place on the way home, hot shot.”

“How do you…?! That is not even possible! And stop messing around for once.”

“Chuck? Devon’s brothers wanted to know if you and Casey needed help packing up the wedding gifts.”

“Uh… no, no! That won’t be necessary. We’re …ah… we’ve got it.”

“Okay, okay… here’s your t-shirt. Get it on.” 

Casey heaved a sigh in exasperation, but shrugged it over his shoulders. “You sittin’ on my belt?”

“Belt? This...oh shit! This isn’t going to work. This is Ellie.” Chuck kept his voice low as he frantically fastened the last button on his tuxedo shirt. “I’ve never been able to get anything past her.”

Casey’s forehead wrinkled. “Except the fact that you’re the Human Intersect and I work for the NSA. Oh, and her father is a rogue government scientist.”

“Well, besides that.” Chuck huffed a breath. “Now, look her in the eyes – and don’t – oh crap.” Catching his reflection in the rear view mirror, he groaned at the sight of his sex -tousled-hair. Hastily, the kid raked his fingers through his locks and gave Casey a warning glare as he finished his thought. “Just don’t put that grin on your face when we get out there. You know the one – the one that screams that you just got some.”

“I don’t have a face like that, Bartowski.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Trust me on this. Are we ready?”

“Are you forgetting something, genius?”

“Chuck? I’m going to get Devon’s brothers to –”

“No! I mean, that’s okay, sis, we’re coming –”

“Heh,” Casey broke in with a snort.

“Stop it. She’s going to figure it out if you joke around like that. Now, open the door.”

“You’re still forgetting, kid.”

Chuck’s brows bunched up. “Okay, what did I forget?”

“The keys.”

“Oh shit … get the keys!”

“I think the person with the scrawniest ass should be the one to climb over the seat.”

“Fiiiine.”

“Watch your head this time. I think they’re under the –”

“Hey! Get your hand off of there.”

“What the hell did you expect? It was sticking up in the air for the asking, wasn’t it?” Casey laughed softly.

“That doesn’t mean you just – okay, okay, found them.”

The locks opened with a metallic clack. Shoving the keys in his pocket, Chuck scooted out the driver’s side door, but being folded up in the back had put a kink in his legs, and a burn rippled down his spine. He slapped his hand on the side of the SUV to steady himself, silently praying Ellie wouldn’t detect the wobble in his step. 

“Chuck?” he heard her say. When he rounded the corner of the vehicle, Ellie was standing next to the lift gate with her hands on her hips. “There you are. Did you … what’s going on?”

“Hey… sis … did you –ah – need us for something?” Chuck attempted to smile at her – but, it didn’t quite work. The best his cheeks could muster up was something that resembled more of a manic grimace. Fidgeting, he crossed his arms and watched as Casey popped the back hatch and jumped out like a giant panther. 

A damn smug one too, based upon that tiny quirk on his lips. 

“Uh, hi…. Casey,” Ellie said pointedly, her eyes roving over the agent head to toe. 

Huh. Amazing how she did that, Chuck noted, impressed with his sister’s handling of the English language. Somehow, she had managed to say, ‘Did you really have to defile my baby brother during my own wedding reception!?’ without actually uttering the words. Quite a feat, even for a Bartowski.

Casey folded his arms over his chest, and stared down at her with an unreadable, steely face. “Ellie,” he said cool as ice. Oh, and that clearly translated to, ‘Hell yes, I did.’ 

Chuck quickly jumped in to diffuse the – well, yes, it was tension. “We were just – ah – talking and –”

“I see … is everything okay, Chuck?”

“Ellie, everything’s fine,” Chuck announced. “We had to…” His eyes darted to the cargo space and landed upon the single box wedged up far in the back “The box. That’s it. We were just putting that box away and Casey opened the hatch for me and I set it down but then he mentioned I should push it to the back to make room for everything else so I climbed in and then Casey – being the helpful person that he is – climbed in to help and we accidently locked the doors and lost the keys and couldn’t get it open and I –”

“Chuck.” Ellie held up a hand to stop him. 

“Uh … yeah?”

Her eyes shifted down to her little brother’s crinkled top. “Before you go back inside to get the presents, I need you to do something.” She was trying her best not to ogle his shirt.

“Sure…” he said, wary at what she was getting at. “What is it?”

“You need to …” Ellie stopped and ran her palm down the front of her dress, signaling that he should look down. “Your … um … buttons.” She cleared her throat. “They’re not lined up. You have an extra one ...not ... buttoned on the bottom.” Turning on her heel, she raised a brow at Casey. “Funny how those things happen, hmm?”

Casey returned a bland look, but underneath that rugged appearance, Chuck saw a face as guilty as the family dog that had climbed up on the dinner table and snared the Sunday pot roast. Shifting on his feet uneasily, the agent averted his eyes from her penetrating stare, and suddenly became preoccupied with a loose thread on his t-shirt. 

“Oh…” The kid looked down to scour the front of his shirt, cringing when he saw the cock-eyed flap at the bottom. Fighting a blush, Chuck turned his back to them, and hurriedly began re-buttoning his shirt. 

“I’ll see you … inside?” Ellie said with a curt nod.

Casey kept his strict posture in intact, barely looking in her direction. “Roger that.”

When Chuck heard the service door creak to a close, he sagged against the SUV, and buried his head in his hands. “Tell me, Casey,” he winced. “How exactly could that have gone worse?”

Casey thought about it. “Coulda been the old man,” the agent mumbled, and giving the kid a once over, he made his way through the door behind Ellie.

Chuck tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at Casey’s back. “What do you have against my dad, anyway?”

-x-

The four men sitting in the back of the NSA van had not spoken to each other for twenty minutes. Not since the black vehicle had stopped in front of a yogurt store in a strip mall – of all the odd places – and picked up a passenger. What was the government hiding down there, and why? The only thing Special Agent Brian Jennings was assured of was that the answer was way out of his pay grade. 

So, he sat there, wearing his mission blacks, a Kevlar vest, his waist slung with a leather holster. And kept his mouth shut. 

To pass the time, he studied the lead agent out of the corner of his eye. McClure was the guy’s name. Oh, wait. Lieutenant McClure, he had told them, and the big jerk had raised his brow at his fellow agents when he said it, letting them know that was how he expected to be addressed. 

Headlights from oncoming cars bathed the back of the van in yellow beams; sporadic flashes of light that reminded him of the approach of a brewing summer storm. Jennings was a seasoned agent, but this mission, called in from General Beckman tonight to activate the team stationed in LA, was not the usual operation. His well-honed operative senses told him something was off. It made him edgy. 

No one was as edgy as McClure though, Jennings noticed. Look at the guy. His right knee was jiggling up and down, and – ugh– right there, he just wiped the back of his hand over his lips, as if drool had seeped out the corner of his mouth. Sickening.

The fact that this mission would essentially end the distinguished career of one Major John Casey didn’t set well in his gut either. Jennings had followed his rise in rank from afar – hell, he had never met the man – but mysterious dark legends swirled at Fort Meade behind closed doors. The string of successful missions, the deep cover umbra level ops; no doubt, the major was the general’s go-to man when the proverbial shit was hitting it. 

The order had come down four hours ago. And now, because of an inexplicable series of events that he wasn’t privy to, tonight, they would all get the privilege of playing a role in taking this man down. 

God. Jennings leaned back in his seat, listening to the hum of the tires, ignoring the unpleasant coiling in his gut. None of it mattered anymore – the target, his exemplary track record. The team had a job do, and without questioning, they would do it.

McClure’s large hands, suddenly cupping his handgun and checking the magazine, brought Jennings out of his rambling thoughts. “Sir?” he said, scrutinizing the young Lieutenant.

“Yeah? What?”

The men were sitting two across on the leather bench seats facing each other, and Jennings bent forward, frowning at the larger man. “General Beckman’s orders were very specific in regards to the operation. I’m only questioning why you’re preparing your firearm.”

McClure sat up in the seat, straightening his back and trained a menacing glare on the man. “I’m certain the general shared with you the identity of one of the targets tonight.”

“Yes, sir. I’m well aware that one of the marks is Major Casey,” he replied coolly. 

“Then, Special Agent Jennings, perhaps you’re aware of the target’s credentials? His kill record, his status as the general’s own lethal weapon – the one she keeps in her back pocket for ‘undocumented’ missions?”

The man’s tone, the spite in his voice, forced alarm bells to sound in Jennings’s head. This wasn’t just a job for the Lieutenant. This fucker was actually enjoying it. “I understand Major Casey’s reputation and his abilities, McClure,” Jennings replied, purposely using only his last name. “But I’ll remind you again,–”

“Then you’ll understand that the man is a wild card,” McClure said, squinting at him in the dark. “If he gets a whiff, even a scent in the air, that something is off tonight – well, he wouldn’t flinch. He’d plug each of us, leave our twisted bodies where they lay, and let the general sort it out tomorrow. All in the name of protecting his asset.”

The asset. The most crucial element of the mission, according to the general. The young man who would be accompanying the major, identity redacted from the mission file. And as his handler, Major Casey would be protecting him with his life if necessary – that operation detail was the most specific. It left no room for error or misinterpretation. 

Jennings had been surprised to find it was General Beckman herself, not one of her lower level officers, who outlined the mission parameters in the briefing. In her typical crusty and unambiguous manner, she laid out the framework for the assignment. 

“The asset will be unarmed,” the general had informed them. “The asset will not put up a fight and is not a threat. Aim your restrictive efforts on the major. And, finally,” she added, raising a brow that nearly disappeared into her hairline, “the asset will not – under any circumstances, with threat of spending the rest of one’s career in a bunker in Iceland – be harmed. Is this understood?” 

With the general’s orders still stinging, Jennings leaned forward again in his seat so that McClure could see his face. “If we do our jobs correctly and follow the mission specifications, we won’t need the typical use of force, sir.” Jennings paused, and glanced down at the gun. “So, I have to ask: do you intend to adhere to the general’s terms – or to disobey her orders?” 

The agent felt his skin prickle when McClure didn’t answer at first. The other two men on the team were now paying keen attention to the warring agents. They knew discord was the last thing the team needed right before an operation. A look of daggers was exchanged between Jennings and McClure, but at last, the lieutenant examined his weapon one more time and shoved it in the holster. 

“I’m keeping it by my side, agent. If Major Casey goes off mission specs, we need to be prepared,” he scowled, and folded his arms over his chest. “You can thank me later when my foresight saves all of our asses.”

“What a dickhead,” Jennings said under his breath. If McClure chose to provoke Major Casey instead of following Beckman’s orders … well, there was no doubt. The legends spoke for themselves. This man would get them all killed.

-x-

Leaning into the open hatch of the SUV, Casey shoved a delicately wrapped silver and white box off to the side to make room for the last of the wedding gifts. Thanks to those douches at the NSA, they had provided the perfect transport vehicle for unapproved civilian purposes – violation of g-131 in the Code of Conduct … and a sweet ass hiding place to ditch the reception and get in a quick blow job to boot. 

This, now that he thought about it, probably had a whole host of repercussions and disciplinary actions associated with such a blatant infringement, because no doubt the DNI would frown on getting sucked off by your asset, while holed-up in a government-issued vehicle. 

Eh. Screw ‘em. 

Tomorrow, at last, he’d settle this business with Beckman.

“John?”

Casey set down the box and spun towards the soft voice, though he already knew who had snuck up on him. Damn, he wanted to put a bell around that woman’s neck.

“Ellie.”

She smiled at him, and glancing down at his t-shirt, the agent saw her eyes skimming across the front of it. “Nice… shirt.”

“Oh.” Casey cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest to cover the message. “Sorry. It got a little, uh, stuffy with the jacket, and when I took off –”

Ellie coughed politely to rescue him from finishing that sentence. “Please, that’s… okay… you don’t have to, um, you know.” She blushed. “That’s not why I came out here to talk to you,” she told him, glancing furtively at the back service door. “It will just take a minute, I promise.”

Oh, shit. This – whatever the hell it was – just became infinitely worse.

“Chuck was right about the chance to be a family – a real family. And, well, that means you too. Sometimes, I don’t know what’s going on between you two – and I know I don’t need to know everything – but Chuck… he’s happy right now, you know?”

Casey grunted in agreement… but cautiously. Where was she going with this? God, if this was about keeping spare ammo in the armory…so help me, I’m gonna –

Ellie reached out with a warm hand, touching his arm above the elbow. “Whatever it takes, I’m going to be there with both of you, to help you through … any issues or –”

Oh, fuck me… retreat… retreat…

“But, I want to make sure you’ll be there for my little brother.” Ellie squeezed his arm, gazing up at Casey with glistening eyes. “It’s taken him five years to find himself since Stanford, and I don’t think…”

God… Bartowskis and the sappy shit … The dad, now Ellie… oh, the kid owes me again…

“Can you promise me?”

“Hmm?” Casey blinked, adjusting his stance uncomfortably. Dammit. She had asked him something.

A glance to the side told him Chuck was still in the ballroom, gathering up the final load of gifts, and leaving the agent to fend for himself. Okay, deal with it, soldier. With thick arms firmly folded over his chest, Casey peered down at her. “What?”

Ellie’s brows furrowed at first. “John,” she said quietly, giving him another light squeeze on his arm. “I want you to take care of him. Don’t let anything happen.”

Casey bit down on his lip. Where the hell was that kid?

“Ellie, I’m not going anywhere,” he finally replied.

“That’s good to know.” Her lip curved up, not quite in a smile. “But, that’s not what I said. You need to promise me right now. I worry sometimes…” Letting her hand slide off his arm, she flicked another look at the door, checking to see if Chuck was in earshot. “You need to promise me that you won’t let anything happen to him.”

Casey made a mental note to check the security feeds at the apartment. Hell, there was a chance that this was simply Ellie Bartowski’s feminine instincts at work here, but her words were so precise, so exact, that Casey couldn’t help but wonder if she’s heard… something she shouldn’t have.

But those hazel eyes were still locked on him, waiting for an answer. Casey straightened to his full height and dropped his hands down, tucking his thumb under his belt. “I will,” he told her. “I promise.”

After a long pause, she smiled, apparently satisfied for now that she had Casey’s word. “Good. I’m glad we had this talk.” She rubbed a hand over her bare arm; the night air had turned chilly, and Casey considered offering the dress jacket, but dismissed that thought when he realized he would need to climb deep into the cargo area to reach the place Chuck had tossed it. 

The service door suddenly cranked open. “Hey, Casey, the last box is going to need your – uh, Ellie?” Chuck craned his neck around the stack of gifts he was carrying. “I thought you had left.”

“I needed to go back and do one more thing.” Ellie nodded at Casey, who was leaning against the Tahoe with an inscrutable face. When she glanced down at her watch, her eyes widened. “Devon must be looking for me by now. Well, baby brother, we’ll be back in two weeks. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

Chuck laughed. “Ellie, it’s your honeymoon. Don’t worry about me.” He set the box down in the back of the SUV and gave Casey a fleeting look. “Go, go… I’ll be fine. Love you, sis.”

Ellie stood in front of him and pulled her little brother into a bear hug. “Love you, too.” When she released him, Ellie lifted her head to look up at Casey. “You too,” she said, and patting Chuck’s shoulder one more time, the bride hurried away to find her groom.

“Huh,” Chuck mumbled, frowning as he watched her disappear through the door. “First my dad, now Ellie…” He slanted a sidelong look at the agent. “Hey… did I… miss anything tonight?”

Casey grunted. And swore a streak.

“Ooooh,” Chuck replied. “You can tell me later, then.”

-x-

“Wait. I know its one a.m. and we’re both whipped, but is it a good idea to leave the gifts out here in the SUV all night?” Chuck wondered, glancing across the front seat at Casey, before reaching behind him to find his tuxedo jacket.

“Don’t worry. I took care of it.” Casey opened the driver’s side door, and the interior lights popped on to reveal the key fob he was holding. “See that?” The agent held it up in front of Chuck’s face, pointing to a switch not found on a run-of-the-mill SUV. 

“Yes,” Chuck said, leery, backing up in his seat.

“When I press this button,” and with a click, Casey pushed down on the control where his thumb was resting, “it activates the security system in this bad boy. Just like that, this vehicle is now a CED on wheels.”

“CED?”

“Let’s just say, if anyone tries to break in, three hundred volts will shoot through –”

“Volts?!” Chuck’s eyes widened. “You mean… as in electricity?” 

“Is there another kind, kiddo?” Casey replied with a smug smile.

“Oh God. I thought your blow torch in Castle was a bit much, but –”

“But you may want to move your scrawny ass,” Casey chuckled, “because the system activates in fifteen seconds. Trust me; you do not want to be sitting where you are.”

“What? Oh crap!” Chuck scrambled out of the SUV and stepped back, putting his hands on his hips. “It’s … well, it might be overkill, don’t you think?”

“You wanna explain to your sister what happened if this shit gets stolen?”

“Point,” Chuck said, sighing as Casey sauntered up to him. The agent had left his uniform jacket in the back cargo area somewhere, and Chuck glanced down at his t-shirt and crinkled his brow at him. “I can’t believe my sister saw that shirt,” he muttered, and nodded towards the stone archway that led to their courtyard. “Anyway, I’m beat. Can we go to bed now?”

“Wanna take me to bed, kid?” Casey rumbled, sliding a hand around his waist and down to his ass, giving it a good squeeze. “Didn’t think you’d ask tonight, after the back seat –”

“Ah… no, no, no, major.” Chuck swatted the roaming hand and scooted out of his reach. “I meant bed, as in sleeping. You know, that thing that people sometimes do in a bed that doesn’t involve copious amounts of groping and sweat? Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“Heh. Whatever it is, my idea sounds a hell of a lot better.”

The kid rolled his eyes at him and gave him a crooked smile. “Let’s go, soldier. I’m just glad this is over, so that we can go back to our normal lives…” He paused and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Though, in this case, normal still means guns, missions, and taking down people who make Darth Maul look ‘misunderstood’.”

“… the hell?”

“Never mind. I just mean, we’re stuck like this until at least – um –”

“At least until the Intersect is gone?” Casey stopped at their apartment door, and dug through the pockets of his blue dress pants. “Is that what you were going to say?”

“Annnd, I’m sorry I brought it up –”

“Yeah, well, save that sentiment, because you’re sure as hell gonna be sorrier tomorrow when we discuss your little rogue mission with Orion. The one you decided to conduct without my knowledge.”

Chuck opened his mouth, but there were no words or arguments. Curious, Casey lowered the keys and watched those baby browns flare wide. Chuck was staring blankly at his face. 

“Sport?” Casey raised a brow at the kid. “See, this is usually the point where you babble out a bunch of excuses or –”

There was an abrupt, instinctual gasp as Chuck choked for air, fighting to fill his lungs. His hand flew up to the collar of his wrinkled tuxedo shirt, and the kid clawed blindly at his neck. 

“C-Casey… ? Not good..,” Chuck stammered. He blinked, his eyes flitting over Casey’s face, but he wasn’t able to bring his sight into focus; he looked like a man swimming underwater, sapped of oxygen, ready to break apart from the ragged edge of lucidity.

“… the hell, Bartowski,” Casey growled. His eyes darted down, frantically searching for the reason Chuck had stopped dead in his tracks. “What is it?” 

But the answer slammed him, crushing him with a band of iron tightening around his chest, as Casey spotted the culprit. A tiny black dart with a red tip had pierced Chuck’s skin above the curve of his shoulder, protruding from his neck like a menacing scorpion that has stung its prey. 

A tranq.

“Jesus Fucking Christ. Get back, Bartowski,” Casey hissed to him, but one look at the kid told the agent Chuck was already fading, slumped against the brick wall. 

“I… ca –” Chuck started, but consciousness was slipping between his fingers. Faltering, his eyes fluttered and he swayed like a drunk on three day binge. “…Sssorry, Casey…” he managed before he blacked out.

Shoving the kid up to the wall, Casey held him there with one large hand pressed to his chest, while his other hand made a grab for the handgun stuck in his waistband. 

But something whipped around his arm, keeping him from pulling out the gun. Casey lashed out, kicking and swinging at the concealed opponent. He felt no impact, no bones or soft flesh crumpling, and realized nothing was there, nothing holding him down. Only open space where his hands fumbled to make contact. 

No. Not that. Not a tranq. 

In a beat, another potent dart sent the incapacitating drug threading through his veins in a searing burn. The spider web of heat on his neck and his upper back spread like long thin tentacles, shooting down the length of his limbs, making them leaden. Helpless and desensitized.

A fleeting thought smacked him; Chuck would have faith in him, whatever this was, to fix it.

Rubbing his hand over his eyes, the agent held the kid’s limp body against the wall, but his strength was draining out of him. Everything around him began to tremble and darken, and his vision wavered around the edges. In his last act of awareness, Casey wrapped his forearm tightly around Chuck’s waist to pull the kid on top of his body, cushioning his hazy and bottomless fall. 

It was the only damn thing he could control, the only thing he could do to save Chuck. 

At least, for now.

-x-End Chapter 8-x-


	9. Chapter Nine

Casey vs. Human Elements

Chapter Nine

-x-

The three week screener, MARSOC training school, had almost kicked his ass. 

Almost. 

The Corp used the stint to weed out the pussies, momma’s boys, and more importantly, the one man shows hell bent on being next week’s cartoon superhero. The USMC Special Forces Operation Regiment didn’t need them or want them, as they typically fucked up the survival of the team. 

Brutally cold conditions, running for endless miles through sand dunes and scrub along the barren beach, push-ups, and sit-ups – he had survived it all where others had wilted and dropped, like ducks from the sky during an autumn hunt. 

But the water tests? Hell, they were the worst. 

The pond behind their house had been his training ground. The three boys would scorch red under the sun… baling hay, picking watermelons, shooting pop cans off the top of the fence. Infinite summer days ended in the water hole with his older brothers, among the cattails and screech of the red wing black birds. He nearly drowned once, when the boys played rough, tangled among the weeds and rope vine branches that had fallen from the weeping willow that draped the edge of the pond.

The hazy memories of the millpond would get him through this. The MARSOC instructor, a little prick who had graduated from MIT of all places, had goaded him without mercy that morning. Trying to break him, see if he would bend – or crack into a million jagged pieces. Told him this would be his last day in training, because the big ones always sink to the bottom like a block of concrete. 

His teammate – everyone called him Smudge, and Casey had forgotten his real name – stood next to him as Casey used a length of black cord to tie his own legs together. Smudge bound Casey’s hands behind his back securely, steadying him while they waited for the signal, and he stared into the twenty-foot deep water. He made his mind go blank, only feeling the wet tile at the edge of the pool, slick and cold under his bare feet. 

The instructions had been pounded into them. Swim the length of the pool underwater. Hands tied. Feet tied. Go to the bottom. Wait for the signal to surface. 

The big ones always sink… today is your last day…

But, he didn’t sink that day. His legs, his torso, every long muscle in his body rippled, pushing himself, making himself cut through the water. Stay low. Decompress. Somersault and push off from the wall. His lungs burned, starved for oxygen, but he couldn’t break the surface yet. The trainees were forced to sit at the bottom, hog tied. Looking into the eyes of the diver, waiting there for the signal to rise. 

Casey remembered the man watching him with glassy dark blue eyes through the fogged mask. The bastard was waiting for him to let go, give up. To surface. Casey met his eyes unwavering, his vision blurring on the edges. He waited. The man finally smiled and nodded, giving him the thumbs up, permission to rise. To breathe again.

Breathe again.

Wait. There was something missing. The pressure and force of the water over him, squeezing air from him, had evaporated. 

He was lying on his back, a cottony surface beneath him, but an utter lack of knowing closed in around him.

Casey gave himself permission to suck in a deep breath, and when he let it out, he heard a noise that sounded like a groan. Swallowing hard, he tasted copper on his tongue, fuzziness in his mouth. 

This place. The room was familiar; he recognized the feel, the movement of the air, the humming noise that drifted in on waves. 

He couldn’t tell when his eyes last worked, hampered by his eyelids that were glued shut with a thin crust of sleep. He felt weak and he hated it. Bringing up his arm, Casey dug the heel of his palm against his eyes and forced them open. He blinked until the room came into focus. 

It’s not where he belongs. There was a firm cot under him, a wall of thick glass, and a hallway beyond it. 

The holding cell in Castle. How the hell did he get there? 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, the agent’s mind scrambled to recall his last conscious memory. The wedding. The back of the SUV… and, yeah, that memory made him warm, made his chest hitch at the sweet pleasure … The gifts… Arriving at the apartment.

A scorpion on the kid’s neck. No, a tranq. A fucking tranq. 

Chuck. 

Craning his neck to the side, Casey scoured the room. He was alone. They – whoever they were – must’ve stashed the kid in a different cell.

The agent sat up on the cot, creakily rolling out to stretch his shoulders and back. He squinted towards the hall, and gave himself a few seconds to listen for a hushed conversation. No voices. The droning of Castle’s computers and its HVAC systems filled every corner of the stark grey space. Why the hell would they leave him and Chuck alone?

“Who’s here?” he tried to call, his voice dry as dust.

His eyes refocused. The cell door was wide open. Getting to his feet, swaying just a little, Casey drew his arm behind him, along his waistband, feeling for the grip of his handgun. Fucking great – the SIG was missing. He felt naked. 

Raking his fingers through his hair, Casey groaned at the pain shooting behind his eyes. A fifth of scotch and a three tranq chaser was an evil concoction. He leaned against the door jamb to get his watery legs under him, and held his breath when he thought he heard a slight noise. The agent glanced down the corridor towards the other cells. 

“Chuck?” he croaked in a voice that belonged to a three-packs-a-day smoker. “Kid?”

Silence. 

Shit. 

Okay, Casey figured, if the tranqs knocked him on his ass, and he had a good forty pounds on the kid, Chuck would be out cold for awhile. 

“God,” he mumbled, massaging the back of his neck. He needed water. The metallic taste in his mouth was making his stomach churn. Rounding the corner, Casey shuffled to the small but tidy Castle break room and grabbed two bottles from the refrigerator, before digging through the first aid kit for some aspirin. He threw back a handful and washed them down with the cool liquid, not stopping to take a breath until the first bottle was empty. 

Feeling his strength trickling back into his limbs, he turned the corner to the hallway, intending to check on Chuck. “Bartowski,” the agent said, listening again on the off chance he’d get a groggy reply. “Where are you?”

But this time, he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the familiar ping announcing the Castle video feed from DC was coming online. 

“Major Casey,” he heard in a familiar voice. “I’m pleased that you’re able to join me this morning.”

Casey stiffened and turned, slow and deliberate, to see General Beckman’s unsmiling face beaming in on the largest screen above the bank of computers. With his look smacking of defiance, the agent strode to the monitor and took his usual position, standing next to the long conference table. 

“I’m sure you have questions for me,” she asserted. “Let’s start the debriefing.”

Damn right he had questions. “What the hell is going on,” Casey growled, crossing his arms over his chest. He was still kind of hazy, but managed a hard blue stare. “Tell me why you brought us here.”

Beckman bristled at the lack of formality. In a power play move, she made him wait it out, taking her sweet-ass time to sit back in her chair and size him up for a moment. “Major,” she finally said, one brow climbing her forehead, “I’m going to ignore your tone for the moment – only for the reason that, as my most successful agent, I believe I owe you an explanation.”

“Starting with the 49b. Is that what this is about, general?” He may have remembered to use her proper title that time, but Casey was certain that Beckman picked up on the venom. Because, ‘general’ in this case sounded a lot like ‘you bitch’.

There it was. A flicker of realization. He had momentarily taken her off-guard by the mention of the 49b. Of course, Beckman quickly recovered; she hadn’t become a decorated four star general without perfecting her poker face.

“Well. I shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that you know about my inquiry into Operation Bartowski. You have the world’s most comprehensive database at your disposal. Isn’t that correct, major? I can only assume that the asset flashed on Lieutenant McClure … and perhaps a past mission he conducted for me.”

Casey didn’t twitch. His jaw was clenched tight, and he waited.

“You’ve been in the agency long enough to know that its normal protocol to conduct certain audits on personnel in long term assignments,” Beckman said. “This was simply procedural.”

“And the mission you sent me on. The seduction.” He spit out the last word like a bitter taste on his tongue. “You were testing me.”

“Yes. The seduction.” Her frown deepened. “The mission had a twofold objective. But the Core? It’s intel… the risk we would have endured if it fell into the wrong hands? Let me assure you, Casey, that element was real. The fact that Chavez provided us,” and she paused to choose her words carefully, “with a unique opportunity to observe protocol was simply fortuitous.”

Casey snorted. Fortuitous? 

If Beckman heard the disdain, she let it go that time. “I’ve learned from Agent Donovan – the young man assigned to your transport out of Cartago – that during the critical juncture in the assignment, it became necessary to alter the mission specifications. You had to take drastic measures against the mark in order to retrieve the Core.”

That was government official-speak for what actually happened. Yeah, I killed the little prick. So?

Casey edged forward a step. “But you wanted me to seduce him instead. To ensure I wasn’t compromised with the asset. That the cover was just that – a cover. So, general, did I pass your little test? ”

“Major Casey, I feel I should warn you that I’ve been lenient thus far in this discourse, but if you choose to push the boundaries any further with you tone, there will be repercussions.” She leaned forward in her chair and met his stare, not backing down. “Protocol dictated the 49b, and I was well within my authority to conduct it.” Glancing to the side, she picked up a thick report and took her time flipping through it. “However, my agent tasked with the audit was not able to find evidence through surveillance, and attempts to debrief the asset also proved … futile.”

Casey felt a swell of pride. Heh. His boy did well this week, keeping his mouth shut and forcing the lieutenant to come up empty. Screw you, general. 

“As far as ‘passing the test’ as you put it, the answer is yes – and no, major. Yes, you retrieved the Core. But there are complications.”

The way she drew out the word, enunciating each syllable to the end … suddenly, it seemed that he, John Casey, had missed something. He felt his heart rate kick up, and his mind whirled, tossing out every excruciating detail of the past week. And he was drawing a blank. 

What the hell was she getting at? 

“Complications,” Casey repeated guardedly, tilting his head towards the screen in only a bare movement. “The op was straight forward from my seat, general.”

“You don’t have all the pertinent details, major. You see, the ‘test’ was inconclusive, since the only other person who could provide the necessary details is dead.” Closing the report, the general folded her hands in front of her. “Therefore, yes, the 49b was questionable, and I’m closing the matter. You ‘passed.’ There is no evidence that you’re compromised in this mission – that your relationship with the asset would drive your decisions. Put emotions over logic, so to speak,” she told him, pushing the stack of documents to the side. “You’re cleared, Major Casey.”

“Good. Then do you mind telling me why the asset and I were tranqued and brought here –”

“That’s not the full picture, major.” She cut him off with a flip of her hand in his direction. “Let me finish. The 49b is closed, but I did say that there were complications – and those are with the operation itself. My analysts were mistaken –”

Code word: they fucked up.

“– and the intel contained within the Core was no longer encrypted as originally thought.”

“What does that mean?” Casey asked, suspicion flooding him. “Your analysts get a trip to the woodshed, maybe a demotion, and we all go back to –”

“Not quite. That means, Major Casey, the intel on the Core was compromised. Anyone who had access to that data knows details we would rather not have leaking out.”

“But it was retrieved.”

“However,” she said dryly, “the one man who could tell us the extent of the damage is dead. Therefore, we must act on the side of caution. We need to assume the worst possible scenario. Preventative actions have been taken to secure our –”

The disk. She told you what was on it… think… government secrets. The key to the DNI. Missile codes…

“– facilities. Contingencies have been activated. All vulnerabilities have been –”

…off the grid missions, cover support to underground resistance movements…

... Oh, shit. 

The skin on the back of his neck prickled, and his heart clocked to rabbit speed in one rattling breath. He swallowed hard before looking up at the monitor and locking his eyes with Beckman’s curious gaze.

The identity of the Human Intersect. 

“Major, I see that you understand the actions that needed to –”

“Where’s Chuck?” Casey asked, unfolding his arms and taking a purposeful stride closer to the monitor.

The general’s lips bunched up as she thought about her answer. “Well, since the evidence – or lack thereof – dismisses any speculation that you may be compromised, you should have no issue with what I need to tell you,” she said. “You’ll be pleased to know that you’re being released from this assignment. We’re shutting down Operation Bartowski.”

“Shutting it down?”

“That’s right. I have an assignment that I’d like you to –”

“You didn’t answer my question: where’s the asset?”

Keep it in check…bottle it up…

“Bartowski is being transported to one of our secure facilities as we speak.” Casey didn’t blink as she glanced down to her watch. “In fact, he’ll be arriving at his new ‘home’ within the next thirty minutes.”

His gut coiled like a twisty-tie, but outwardly, he managed to stifle the ripple down his spine. No fucking way would he show the general the hand of cards he was playing with.

“Why was I not notified when there was a change in the operation?”

“That was my decision.” The general dusted off her consolatory face for the occasion. “Casey, I’ve watched you rise through the ranks. I’ve seen you do things that even a man with ice water in his veins couldn’t do.” Heaving a breath, she leaned back in her chair and watched his face. “But, in this case, I don’t think that even the most hardened agent could watch a young man dancing at his sister’s wedding, and know that it would be the last time – the last memory – his friends and family would have of him.” 

Casey’s fingernails dug brutally into his moist palms, he but wasn’t sure if it was sweat or blood wetting the tips of his fingers. “So, you made the decision to lock him up without his handler’s knowledge.”

“For his own protection. And, in a way, your protection as well,” she added pointedly. “There’s no hiding the fact that the asset is intelligent. Perceptive, as it were. If you knew he was being taken underground last night, he would’ve sensed something was wrong. He would have read it in your demeanor and attempted to badger it out of you. This was for the best. Think of it this way: he enjoyed his last day as a civilian.” Her face almost cracked into a smile, as if she was handing out a plate of cookies, and not a life sentence. “Am I correct, major?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well. I’m pleased that you finally grasp the logic – and my handling of the situation.” She looked down at her desk and picked up a pen, a sign that she was ready to change the subject. “Now that you’re accessible, I’d like you to –”

“Why was I tranqued?”

“That decision was also mine. For the protection of my agents in the field.”

Casey narrowed his eyes at her as he stated the obvious. “Because I would’ve killed them – as a threat to the asset – since I had no knowledge of the mission.”

“Precisely. This way, my LA team gets to live.” She mustered up another weak smile at her lame-ass attempt at humor. “And we all get to move on to another mission.”

“Ma’am, the transition for the Intersect will be… difficult. I request to be positioned on his security detail. A known intermediary would help –”

“Request denied.” There. She caught his eye dead-on for a moment. Oh, fuck. She knows. She doesn’t have a scrap of evidence, and she may not know the full truth, but she damn well knows there was a connection. “Lieutenant McClure has assumed the role of the asset’s handler and security detail. He’ll be the Intersect protection lead.” 

“What? McClure is –”

“Headstrong. Stubborn. I know. I’ve seen it before.” She quirked that damn brow at him again. “But, he’s also trustworthy. As you know, Fulcrum has infiltrated our ranks, and even with the asset safely stored underground, I need McClure to act as his safety net against them. Fulcrum will stop at nothing to acquire the Intersect, including an attempt to penetrate our facilities,” she told him irritably. “Therefore, the lieutenant will supervise the shutdown of Castle and the apartment, and transition to his new assignment.” Casey’s anger re-fired when he saw her lip curl up wryly. “You’ll be free to move on to your new role.”

She was going to do this. Hell, she was doing it. The greasy pool of sweat that had formed on the back of his neck began trickling down his ribcage under his t-shirt. “My new role?” he said, keeping his voice steady and without a flinch.

“Casey, you need to distance yourself from … Burbank. I’m reassigning you.” Reaching over her desk, her hand reappeared on the video feed, this time holding another document. “One of our consulates is seeing an increase in threats, and we have reason to believe it may be targeted by the Euskadi Ta Askatasuna terrorist organization. I’m sending a plane within the hour,” she told him stonily. “Get on the plane, major. Leave this behind you.”

“Where are you sending me?”

“Paris. You’ll rendezvous with a Monsieur Peltier at the –”

“France. You’re sending me to France?” Casey kept his fists clenched down at his side. “With all due respect, ma’am –”

“Oui. That’s your destination,” she interrupted succinctly. “I’ve had enough of this discussion. Major, pack what you need and get out of Burbank. Immediately. I’ve given you your new mission parameters. That is all.”

With a ping, the screen darkened.

Casey stared at the monitor as the seconds ticked by. After half a minute, he turned to look down at the empty table, and rested his hands on the smooth cool surface. The silence was drowned out by a dangerous crackling in the air. He heard himself rasp a breath to fill the quiet – and the void in his chest.

That didn’t work.

He had become accustomed to feeling nothing, a mortal numbness he had perfected through two decades of wetwork and spilling of blood. 

But now, it was replaced with a blunt ache, and it hurt like hell. More than any physical scar that had been striped across his body over the years. 

He tried not to think of having Chuck next to him at the table, tried not to be distracted while he choked down the swell in his throat.

… the way the kid bounced on his heels when he had something to say during a debriefing, or grinned and snuck a kiss when the video link ended, like a shared secret between them… 

Two ragged beats later, the world folded in on itself …

…and snapped.

A spark flickered through his cool blue eyes, and he felt his shoulders square as he slowly rose to his full height. 

“General Beckman,” he said low and feral, and he took strides around the table to stand in front of the empty monitor. “I regret to inform you… that I’ve changed my own operation parameters.” 

Reaching into one of the file drawers, Casey pulled out the closest spare he kept handy. The black-anodized metal was slick and comfortable under his warm fingers. Squinting at the handgun, he checked the magazine and slid it back into place until he heard the satisfying chink. His eyes shadowed, dark and dangerous, when he spoke. 

“My new mission. Find Chuck. Bring him home.” He shoved the gun in his waistband and shrugged his shoulders. “Kill anyone who tries to stop me.”

-x-

‘Pack what you need.’

The general’s instructions rang in his ears – only because they were most likely to be the last orders he would ever obey. 

Hell, yes, he was packing what he needed.

In the seventeen minutes that had elapsed since Beckman had signed off, Casey had filled three black nylon duffels with every weapon from the armory that could fit in the bags. Four AK-47s. Five flash bangs. Seven Lapua Magnum sniper rifles. And, what the hell? Why not. The butane high powered blow torch. Maybe this op wouldn’t require his favorite type of persuasion, but for old times’ sake, he stuffed it in the bag anyway. 

Zipping up the gear, Casey scanned the shelves for the last item he would take. Where the hell was his minigun? McClure – that bastard. Sitting on the wrong shelf, oh, and right there. 

Sonovabitch, the smudge Chuck had joked about to rile him up? Yep, no joke.

Chuck. A vision of those baby browns waking up in a clinical white hole underground sent his stomach plunging. You failed him. Fix this.

Swiping a rag over the barrel, he grabbed the ammo from the box and closed the case over the minigun. 

But there was one more one piece of data to scrape out of this place before he vanished like a ghost.

“Where would the government stash a nice kid with a super secret computer database crammed in his noggin?” he said quietly. Pulling up a rolling desk chair to one of the computers, he typed in a search. “Okay, general, which one of your facilities has had a very special delivery in the past hour?”

Dammit. He glared at the message and tried again, then scowled at the screen. ‘Access Denied.’ Facility admission records, details on the movement of DNI property – Christ – all of it was light years beyond even his pay grade.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leaned back in the chair, his mind searching for another way to whittle into the database. God, he needed Chuck here for this. 

Okay, intellectually, he knew Chuck would not be standing behind him, breathing excitedly the way he gets when he’s on the brink of unearthing an answer that had baffled the NSA analysts. Chuck was in a bunker. The kid would be counting on him to find a way through the maze of firewalls and security measures on his own.

Casey narrowed his eyes at the screen, deciding to take another tactic. “Where are your facilities, General Beckman...” he said under his breath. “Where would you store your only Intersect?”

He had heard the rumblings, and knew of the existence of places the government would rather keep under wraps. After all, it would be indelicate, downright messy, if a bureaucratic leak forced the Feds to own up to the hard fact that Human Storage Facilities were an actuality. Because Uncle Sam would never hold a citizen without a proper trial.

Casey snorted and rolled his eyes, before locking them on the screen again.

There were three instances in his career where he had made the trip to places no one wanted to talk about. Only in the far periphery of his mind could he recall the mission, the mark, the orders to transport the unlucky sap to a facility Casey didn’t even know existed until then. After the op, he was ordered by Beckman to forget what he had witnessed.

Deep beneath Polson, Montana. Was that the place? Casey quickly searched the online map locator for regional facilities. Of course, there was no hit, but he was certain that was the vicinity. Zeroing in on the coordinates, he shook his head at the map. Just thirteen miles south of nowhere. 

Northern California – that facility was a more recent memory. It was the one where they had buried that genius ass hat who had escaped and almost blew up the Santa Monica pier. Lazlo. 

The last one he could recall was in Virginia… Sterling, Virginia. Casey clicked on the online map again, to zoom across the country. Sterling was within twenty miles of Langley; off the beaten path, but close enough to bureaucratic headquarters…

Casey grunted in annoyance.

… close enough for those fucking scientists based in Langley to make use of their new government play toy on a daily basis. And, oh, after the wait, after knowing he was out there all this time? They would be eager. Drooling with anticipation. They would make damn sure it was a convenient car trip to gouge into the brain of the only walking talking babbling Human Intersect.

Bingo.

That’s where the government has smuggled the kid. For the first time since he had woken up, something warmed him. Hope that somehow they could get out of this. That he wouldn’t let Chuck down. 

Slinging the bags over his shoulders, Casey headed up the staircase. When he got to the landing at the top, he turned and looked down into the bowels of Castle for what was sure to be the last time.

Casey grunted. Solemn, with a hint of menace. “I’ll see you in Virginia, general,” he growled to no one. 

With the words still echoing hollowly off the concrete walls, he closed the door. 

John Casey was officially rogue.

-x-

“I don’t get it,” Agent Brian Jennings mumbled to himself. “Why aren’t we packing this up and getting the hell out of here?”

One of the NSA technicians who was seated at the desk turned to look up at him. “What do you mean? He ordered this,” Lewis said, nodding his head towards McClure, who was occupied with packing up the formidable supply of weapons from the apartment. “The lieutenant ordered us to recover the surveillance files – no matter what. Jerk,” he tacked on as he turned back to the computer.

Chou, the other technician, shrugged in agreement without looking away from the screen. “Been working on this all night …” he said.

And, God, it had been a disturbing night, Jennings thought. But, in the eyes of the NSA, the mission had been a shiny ‘success’: the major and his asset were subdued without any unforeseen injuries to the team or the targets – an accomplishment in itself considering how deadly and tenacious one of the marks is. Was? Probably. 

It had been no easy feat, but with four men, three tranqs, and a gurney, they had managed to neutralize the NSA agent and lug him away in one vehicle, while the asset had been transported separately to an undisclosed airfield. 

‘A success.’ The general had nodded at them, the kind that loosely translated to a proverbial pat on the head to her team. So, what the hell was going on now? They should be packing this up and sliding away discreetly into the woodwork, but the asshole had these two tech guys busy trying to unravel some missing data. And, McClure was helping alright – by pacing back and forth, looking pissed, but he had finally made himself useful by gathering up the weapons in the major’s armory.

Enough. Jennings bit down on his lip and gave a fleeting look to the two men sifting through data on the major’s computer. Okay, maybe McClure was acting under the guise of a government sanctioned operation, but he didn’t give a shit. 

“You know,” Jennings drew it out carefully, “according to the general’s directive, the major is already on his way to his next assignment. The asset, who certainly didn’t pose a threat, is safely secured. It’s just a shame… what he’s doing now.” Frowning, Jennings motioned towards McClure.

“What’s that?” His tone had caught Lewis’s attention. 

“Hey, I think I have something…” Chou whispered, eyes riveted to the monitor as if in a trance. “Oh, this piece of code… it’s masterful. Artwork.”

Jennings wondered if Chou was even listening, but he kept his focus on Lewis. “Well, it’s a disgrace, in that the big asshole over there is using the two of you to … advance his career… and to bring down the agency’s top man.” 

“What do you mean?” Lewis’s eyes widened. 

“Gotcha… Huh. I don’t believe he did this…” Chou whispered, still engrossed by whatever he had at last discovered. “Our record is still perfect, my man…”

Lewis spun in his chair to return the high five Chou offered. Then, he peered up at Jennings. “Bring down…?”

“The mission is over,” Jennings told him. “He’s ordered you to find dirt … so that he can climb over the poor chumps in his way. And the more importantly, the major. You know, his promotion.” The agent shrugged, looking resigned. “I hope you liked working for the guy… because, at this rate, we’ll all be working for him soon...” 

Well, look who joined the party. Chou’s head sprung up and he turned in his seat, giving Lewis a puzzled frown. “What did he just say?”

Lewis ignored the question. He was too intently focused on Jennings. “So, you’re telling me this major, he wasn’t …involved in anything…”

“Who? Major Casey? Hell, no. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” Agent Jennings glanced towards the armory. “McClure’s got a vendetta – thinks he’ll be the new golden boy of the agency.”

The NSA technicians gave a sideways look at each other, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. A few tense moments passed as Jennings studied both of the men, waiting to see what they would do. 

Lewis finally nodded at his fellow nerd. “Do it,” he said, his voice quiet.

“Don’t worry.” Chou heaved a breath, staring at the screen forlornly. “At least we’ll know our record was perfect.” With that, he hit the delete key. 

A minute later, the hard drive was wiped clean and packed in a box without another word.

-x-

“What the hell do you mean, you couldn’t fix it? I thought you guys were supposed to be the best!” McClure’s eyes landed on the cart where the boxed up computer had been stowed. “Why did you take it apart?”

Lewis snapped his briefcase shut. “We are the best. Just… not this one time, lieutenant. We met our match.” He grabbed the handle, and smoothing his tie, he gave McClure a withering look. “For future reference, agent, try to keep your asset off of the government-issued computers. Especially an asset as proficient as this one appears to be. Don’t you think so, Chou?”

“Yep,” the other technician concurred, latching up his messenger bag.

“You little bastards… You didn’t even try to fix this!”

Lewis smoldered, looking down at this watch. “We have spent twelve hours trying to retrieve your data,” he said. “Anything on this network, any surveillance looped through this computer, is toast. Let it go, agent.” Turning to Chou, he tipped his head towards the door. “Ready? We got a plane to catch.”

McClure froze on the spot. “Wait. Did you say… on this network?”

“Yeah,” Lewis replied, narrowing his eyes at him.

“So… a stand-alone… receiver… transmitter… son of a bitch.” McClure folded his arms over his chest, and swept his eyes in the direction of the staircase. Funny that it took these little useless fuckers until now to share that information. “A GLG-20… that would be off the network…?” 

Oh, this would be too nice. Too easy.

Chou signaled to Lewis to grab the handle at the front of the cart while he took the back. “Yes… so?”

“Get the computer off the cart and out of the box,” McClure demanded, holding up a hand to stop them from pushing the handcart out the door. “Did you hear me, nerds, or do you need a fucking hand drawn diagram to figure it out?”

“No can do, lieutenant.”

“I need it.” 

Lewis kept his voice low, and didn’t let go of the handle. “This machine stays where it is. Your asset infected it. If you hook up any peripheral, it will unleash a worm –and you’ll lose your data for good. Find another computer.”

“What? Find another, just like that? Care to remind me what your job is here?” McClure wanted to pound these little dick heads into the wall – but, he supposed the general would frown upon her geeks getting roughed up, even just a little for their own good. “Fine. I don’t need it,” he groused, whirling to head up the staircase. The young agent figured he had the entire Castle and all of its computers at his disposal. “Thanks for all your help,” he muttered on his way up the stairs.

McClure heard one of them huff, and the other say, “Never mind. Ignore him, okay? Let’s get out of here.”

Heh. They would have a death wish to challenge a man three times their combined size. And, he would never admit it, but the nerds had done him a favor by reminding him of the concealed transmitter, hidden next to a clothes hook behind the door – of the master bedroom.

“Let’s see what the asset has been up to this week,” he said, pushing the door open. McClure gave a swift searching look before his eyes landed on the tiny transmitter pointed at the bed. “Who have you been talking to… and what have been doing in here?”

-x-

Casey could blame it on the fact that his brain was still swamped in muck, shaking off the after effects of tranq juice – or he could blame it on the sting of knowing that the kid was going underground, while he was stuck here – but fuck.

How could he have such a lapse to forget that he had no goddamn way to get out of here? Because, however the hell he got to Castle last night, the Vic wasn’t waiting for him behind the Buy More in her customary spot.

Plan B. Find another ride back to the apartment and get her. 

“Okay,” Casey muttered under his breath, scanning the back parking lot. “Can’t use your hippy Prius, not your damn BMW… shit, I need a classic ride...” The newer models were almost impossible to hot-wire. But the older pieces of shit? They were a snap.

It took him half a minute, but finally, his eyes landed on the perfect vehicle. Perfect, in that it had plenty of storage in the back to transport the weapons he had requisitioned from the armory, and being an earlier model, he could easily remove the ignition cover to get to the wiring. 

Not so perfect in that Jeffster CDs were stacked up on the console, empty beer bottles rolled around between the captain seats – and … fuck…me…

Was that orange and brown flecked shag carpet on the ceiling?

But with a tap of wires and a spark, the motor revved … and Jeff Barnes just donated one for the cause.

… without knowledge of his charitable contribution seeping into his booze-boggled mind, of course.

“God.” Casey wrinkled his nose as he backed out of the parking space. “What is that smell?”

-x-

After digging through shelves and cartons, McClure was able to get his hands on a screwdriver from a kitchen drawer, one of the last items that hadn’t been stuffed in a box and whisked away to the NSA trailer parked off the street. 

Luckily for the clean-up team, it was a Sunday morning, and if the neighbors had noticed the beehive of activity in the ground level apartment – well, none of them had poked their noses where they didn’t belong. 

Unscrewing the last bolt from the metal plate, the lieutenant removed the mini transmitter from the bracket and examined it, turning the device in his hands. With a grin, he placed it in a small plastic bag and strode over to a lamp on one of the nightstands. Reaching under the shade, he swept his fingers over the interior socket that held the bulb, and pinched the tiny receiver that was adhered to it. 

McClure held up the electronic gadget in front of his eyes, and threaded it between his fingers. “Think you’re smart, asset? Let’s see how smart you really are.” The receiver was dropped into the same bag, and the agent sealed it shut. 

Feeling much better, he let his eyes drift over the bed, and he felt himself smirking in anticipation of getting to the base and watching what the receiver had captured.

The base. McClure quickly dug his phone out of his pocket. Those fucking cleaners who were scheduled to tear down Castle would try to screw him over by packing up the computers first unless he stopped them.

“Don’t touch anything in the bunker until I get there,” he ordered the team lead. “If you’ve already socked away the computers, I’m lining up heads in the shooting range and taking pot shots. And,” the young agent added coolly, “I never miss.”

-x-

“Look at the rooks she sent,” Casey mumbled, promptly forgetting about the smell that permeated the van. He shook his head in disgust. “Now, that’s inconspicuous.”

Four agents, wearing mission blacks, holsters, and – Jesus H. Christ, Kevlar? – were trying to blend in with the young couples walking their dogs and slurping iced coffee drinks from their damn environmentally friendly reusable mugs on a Sunday morning in Echo Park. 

The clean-up crew.

Jesus. 

And who the hell wouldn’t notice the white trailer parked on the side street, being loaded with boxes …

… and… the entire contents of the armory from the apartment. 

His armory. Casey watched with a look on his face that warned of dire violence if anyone so much as twitched in his direction today. Not that these morons would’ve noticed him. Okay, so maybe he was parked a hundred yards down the same side street, trying to stay under wraps – but that didn’t work out so well when the vehicle was a 1975 brown and tan Van Epoch with shag carpeting on the ceiling and blue-grey exhaust pumping out the tail pipe. 

A movement caught his attention, and a black sedan – obviously government registered – whizzed out of the parking lot. Casey hunched down in the driver’s seat when the vehicle turned in his direction, but the large man behind the wheel didn’t even look at the van. 

“You’re in a goddamn hurry, aren’t ya?” A glimpse of his profile, along with the images from Chuck’s vivid descriptions, told Casey exactly who the driver was.

“Agent Brandon McClure… You big prick,” Casey growled into the side view mirror as he passed. Well, he’d take care of that problem when the opportunity was in front of him. Right now, his first order of business was to retrieve the Vic without another set of eyeballs spotting him, and get the hell out of there. 

Climbing out of the van, Casey walked past the cars parked along the side street until he entered the apartment’s carport. The faithful girl was waiting for him in her usual spot. The agent knelt down and reached under the driver’s side wheel well, sliding his fingers until he hooked on to the magnetic key holder he kept there. 

When he stood up, he nearly crashed into Stephen J. Bartowski.

“Where the hell… is my son?”

John Casey prided himself on being prepared for anything, any situation a mission gone horribly wrong could throw at him. If he had been cornered in the carport, the agent was prepared to neutralize the ill-fated members of the NSA crew with unforgiving lethal force. Assume another identity… melt undetected into the landscape until he had crossed the country…use Delta Force tactics if provoked or threatened along the way. He was primed to do all of it.

But, he sure as hell wasn’t prepared for this.

His whole body tensed like a stretched cord, and he took a deep breath, wondering how he would talk his way out of this one – because Chuck’s wacky father didn’t look like he was in the mood for avoidance of the topic. 

Ducking his head, Casey’s eyes narrowed at the angry, etched face looking back at him. Chuck’s dad, who had snuck up on him as if he dropped from the sky, looked like an indigent from the street, wearing his olive drab military jacket over his jeans and plaid shirt, his mussed up hair standing up or laying down in weird angles from his head…

… and in a flash, the flippy hair reminded Casey of a half asleep, body-warmed Chuck under the blankets, sprawled and waking in their bed…

Fuck. Not now, he thought, chasing the mental picture from the back of his mind.

“Answer me, damn you. Those are government agents at the apartment. NSA, FBI… aren’t they, major? They’ve been there all night.” Stephen took a defiant step forward. “And, now conveniently, you show up here alone, so I’m going to ask you one more time: where the hell is my son? What have they done with him?”

Casey didn’t trust his mouth to work, not with the way his throat had constricted like a metal band was wrapped around his neck. Saying it out loud, hearing the words… that would make it real. 

A few seconds ticked by while Casey stalled, using the precious beats to check for anyone approaching from the street, or the clack of footsteps in the courtyard. Truthfully, he almost would’ve welcomed the disruption from the pack of agents, than to face the older man in front of him and tell him his son was gone.

“Well?” Stephen gave him an aggravated look as he waited. “Say something!”

“They took him underground,” Casey said, just getting it out there. “There was a security breach, a chance that someone may have learned the identity of the Human Intersect. My bosses made the decision to –”

The gut punch came from nowhere. In one wink of an eye, he had been standing next to Chuck’s dad, and the next, a fist flew out and jabbed him below the ribcage, a direct hit to the upper abdomen. A searing hot burn started at his belly, and rolled like waves from his middle down his limbs. Doubling over, Casey grabbed onto the side of the Vic to steady his legs, choked in air, gasping for his lungs to fill. Slowly, his breath came back to him, and he glanced up to see Orion, fists balled up and ready to take another swing.

This was one hell of a time to find out the old man still had a wicked right hook.

But there was no way he would let Stephen Bartowski get in two like that. Striking out with a large, lethal hand, Casey grabbed Orion’s fist, and used his other hand to twist his arm behind his back. He shoved the older man head first against the hood of the car and quickly looked to the side, checking to see if the agents had heard the ruckus. 

“You son of a bitch,” Stephen managed to sputter, even with the side of his head pressed down hard into the hood. “You knew. You knew this was going to happen last night, and you sat back and watched it. You watched my son at his own sister’s wedding, knowing they would take him. That we would never see him again.” Craning his neck the best he could from his impossibly uncomfortable position, Chuck’s father eyed him with distrust and hate swimming in his eyes. “That makes you a monster, Major Casey,” he spit out.

Casey froze, forcing himself to draw a breath and let it out slow. How easy it would be to take his neck between his fingers, to stop him from saying it. He had killed a man for less than that… but the thought of looking into those wide dark eyes in a week from now – because it will happen, he will get Chuck back – and explaining to the kid why he had to kick his father’s ass… ?

Heh. He doubted that Chuck would see it his way on this particular subject.

With one last menacing twist of his arm, Casey released his hold and stood back, letting Orion straighten himself. The man rubbed his arm and shoulder, staring back at him with a look that told Casey he was resisting the urge to slug him again. “Is the truth that hard to take, John?” he said.

With that, Casey was pissed. The agent widened his stance, in a way to draw the line at the challenge. “I don’t have time for this, so I’ll say it once,” he growled, peering behind his back to check for the agents before unlocking the driver’s side door. “You listen to me. I knew nothing of the orders to take your son underground. We were tranqued. When I woke up this morning – and it’s none of your damn business where I was – Chuck was gone, and my superior officer informed me of the change in his status.”

“Change in his status?” Stephen snorted with disdain. “You’ve been working for the feds for too long, Casey. You see, that’s just their way to put a spin on what really happened. My son – an innocent civilian – was kidnapped against his will and taken from his family. That’s what you really meant to say, major.”

“Damn you,” Casey said in a gravelly voice. “Can you shut the hell up for once?” What was it about the Bartowski DNA that let the old man get under his skin like this? 

Orion glared at him, but surprisingly, he did shut his trap. He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for Casey to deny it.

Dragging his palm over the back of his neck, Casey suppressed a frustrated groan at what he needed to say next. “He was taken from me, too,” he said quietly, careful not to make eye contact. “Don’t you forget that.”

Stephen Bartowski gave him an inscrutable look, his eyes becoming slits as he studied the agent’s face.

“What,” Casey snapped, feeling heat crawling up his neck. “Why the hell are you looking at me like that?”

The agent heard a humorless chuckle in reply. “My… God,” Orion murmured, mustering up a sad smile. “You might just be telling the truth. You really didn’t know… did you?”

“Well, for a fucking genius, look who just caught up,” Casey muttered to himself. He turned to face the older man, still feeling the twinge of the gut punch that ached in his belly. “After our little ‘talk’ last night, I thought I made it clear where I stood.”

If the bitterness registered with Orion, he didn’t show it. “What are you…? Where are you going?” he asked.

Casey crossed his arms over his chest and gave him sour look. “I’m going after him, of course,” he said flatly. “I’m going to bring him back.”

“You’re going … rogue?”

“Keep your voice down, will ya?” Casey rumbled.

“I don’t believe this…” Stephen made a noise under his breath, and then, in a resolute motion, he edged between Casey and the Vic. “I’m coming with you,” he announced. 

The agent brushed him off. “... the hell you are. Nuh-uh. You’ll just slow me down, old man, and there’s no way I’m dragging your sorry ass where I have to go.” 

“You forget who I am, agent. I’ve spend over a decade hiding from them,” he said, mulishly sticking his chin out. “I know how to do this.”

But Casey was not inexperienced in facing down the Bartowski stubbornness, not by a long shot. This time, he dealt with it by shouldering the smaller man out of the way with a look that dared Orion to even try to wedge himself into the car. 

“Think about it,” Casey said, and it came out condescending, but he didn’t care. “If I’m caught, they throw me in a cell to rot. If you’re caught, not only does the government have the Human Intersect, but the scientist, the mind behind it.” The agent stopped to unlock his car. “The answer is no,” he told him sharply.

“But I can help! You’re going to need me. You can’t do this alone.”

Casey let his eyes drift over the man, from his tousled hair to his drab jacket to his scuffed shoes. The agent’s features were washed with a healthy dose of skepticism. “How the hell can you … help me?”

“Tech support.”

“You didn’t hear me, old man, I said no way. I don’t need tech support and I don’t need to have to worry about your ass getting us captured.” Why the fuck did this conversation feel like déjà vu? 

“Old man?”

Casey rolled his eyes and opened the car door. “I’m leaving. You won’t be able to contact me because I’m going off the grid, so stay put and –” He started to climb into the seat, but a split second later he stopped, watching Orion pull up the sleeve of his jacket to reveal a long black band that covered his forearm.

“What is –” The NSA agent was interrupted by the chirp of his burner phone… the one only Chuck could use to contact him. Lunging into his pocket, he yanked it out to look at the view screen, and felt his shoulders sag in rancor that it read ‘I can help’. Casey blinked at the message, then let his eyes slide up to see Chuck’s father with a smug look on his face.

“Well?” the older man said.

Casey scowled. “How did you –”

But Stephen Bartowski ignored the agent’s half-baffled, half-fuming face, and instead tapped a finger on the black armband again. His phone immediately changed ringtones, making Casey cringe at the sound of the Mexican Hat Dance.

“Are you going to pick it up?” Orion asked, nonchalant.

In response, Casey hit the end button, and shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Cute trick,” he grunted. “The answer is still no.” With one last warning glare, he turned to leave.

“Wait. Just wait, please.” Orion snatched his arm, digging his fingers in above the elbow, and his craggy features tightened into a grimace. “You have to let me help. He’s my son.”

“Yeah, well, he’s my –” 

The words died in the back of his mouth. How could he finish that? Asset… boyfriend… partner… lover. None of it sounded complete until it tumbled together. Chuck.

“You were saying?”

Casey took his arm and hauled him away from the side of the car. “This conversation is over. It’s too risky to be out in the open like this. I’m leaving,” he said, and the agent nodded his head towards the courtyard. “Get back in Ellie’s apartment and stay out of sight until the clean-up crew is gone. Or go back to the place you came from.”

Casey saw Orion with that eerily familiar obstinate look on his face again. “No.”

“Dammit, why do you have to be so –” Casey shot back, scrubbing his hands over his face in exasperation. He could be content telling Stephen Bartowski to go fuck himself here and now, but… hell, this is Chuck’s dad. 

So, the agent could not even begin to fathom what he was about to agree to. “Okay… okay… I could use remote tech support,” he grumbled. “Remote only, got it?”

Chuck’s father gave him a dirty look, as if considering a counteroffer. But slowly, a wan smile crept onto his lips. “Good. Glad you see it my way.” He pulled his sleeve down and slinked around the corner of the carport. “We’ll be in touch,” was the last thing Casey heard him say.

-x-End Chapter Nine-x


	10. Chapter Ten

Casey vs. Human Elements (Chapter Ten)

-x-

Thinking about Chuck in the silence of the car didn’t do him any favors… but he can’t turn his mind off like a switch. 

So, Casey pictured the scenario. The transport team would’ve been methodical in their actions, following strict protocols and taking untraceable routes to the final destination. If Chuck had started to wake up while they were still en route, they would’ve juiced him again with a syringe, just to keep him compliant and utterly out of it. They would tell themselves it was less fuss and muss this way – with the extra benefit of leaving the asset disoriented with no frame of reference. No connections between time and place when he regained consciousness. 

Bit by bit, Chuck would manage to claw his way out of his forced nap, emerging from a dream-like soupy blur to face strangers. Scientists with ambiguous intentions. Forty-feet down with no escape hatch. 

You failed him. 

Okay… okay, not this time. Casey closed his eyes and got lost in the mundane, counting how many state lines he was going to cross over the next four days. And, a more pressing matter, his line of attack when he arrived in Virginia.

After the run-in with Stephen Bartowski, Casey had disabled the GPS in the Vic and backtracked down the side street, parking next to the Jeffster van. In less than two minutes, he had loaded the duffels into the trunk and was easing onto the entrance ramp of the freeway. A half hour later, the agent pulled into a convenience store with an ATM, and cleaned out the bogus account he had set up four months earlier. Right around the time his relationship with Chuck had changed. Because, he knew this day was coming.

Unbelievable that he had been able to avoid those douches cleaning out the apartment, and right about now, they were probably scratching their balls, wondering why the major’s car had disappeared.

Which meant, he had to ditch the car like yesterday’s leftovers – pronto.

The 605 east out of the city was wide open on a Sunday morning, and the temptation was to get a few hundred clicks away before swapping rides. Logic told him it was too risky though, and Casey took the exit at Duarte when he saw a sign from the interstate that caught his eye.

Miguel’s Quality Previously Owned Car Lot had a halfway decent selection of used vehicles. Even a few that were sitting on eight cylinders that drank gas, the kind Detroit made before it got pussified by the environmentalists. 

A man in faded jeans and a t-shirt approached him from a low building at the back of the lot. “How much would you take for that?” Casey asked, standing over one of the cars. 

“We haven’t opened yet, and Miguel… well, he’s not here to –”

“I can give you eighty-five hundred in cash,” Casey growled. 

“We might be able to bend the rules this morning, my friend.” Smiling broadly, the man led him into his office. A temporary registration, a title, and cash exchanged hands. When Casey stood up, he glanced back at the Vic and tilted his head towards his baby. 

“Can you stow her for me?”

“Well, we don’t really have a place for –”

“Twenty-five hundred. Half now… and half when I get back in ten days.”

“We might be able to find some room in the back lot –”

“– In the repair shop. Under a tarp. Ten days,” Casey replied, reaching for his wallet again.

“Uh… I’m sure we can find some room.” The man paused. “What if you don’t come back in ten days?”

Casey snorted. “Ten days. Keep it out of sight.” He tossed the bills on the desk and scooped up the paperwork. “One nick or scratch and the deal is off. Got it?”

Dumbfounded, the man nodded in agreement. “I’ll go – uh,” he glanced at the Crown Victoria, taking in her considerable mass from tip to stern, “make some room in the back.”

“Good. Why don’t you run along and go do that,” Casey concurred, leaning against the hood and folding his arms over his chest, cool blue eyes locked onto the man. 

When the salesman went inside the shop, the agent moved quickly, exchanging the overstuffed duffels from one trunk to the other. He figured the transfer was best done on the sly, since the minigun just might raise a brow or two.

Five minutes later, the Vic was shrouded under a black tarp, and Casey climbed into what was essentially his get-away car.

Maybe he had been thinking with his dick on this one, and there was chance the blue Dodge Challenger wasn’t the most inconspicuous car on the road – but it felt long and dangerous, powered by a muscled engine – and that made it the perfect choice.

He stared out over the road, willing his thoughts to stop spinning, the world to stop tilting as it had since he unglued his eyes only two hours ago.

My fault. I let this happen. 

Now, because he had dropped his guard so recklessly, so precariously, the kid would be spending at least the next four nights stashed away in Hotel Beckman. Scared. Betrayed. 

…stop…stop…

…Needles …God, they’ll have needles…

Chuck hates needles… The scientists, they’ll want to poke him with no regard to the human container of the Intersect. They’ll want to get under the skin, get a good look at the inner workings of that brain. Test it, watch it react… they’ll be curious and morbid; like a rotten kid scorching a beetle under a magnifying glass in the sun. Just to observe, of course. All in the name of advancing science. 

Bastards. It made acid rumble in his stomach. Made him want to puke when he thought what the government was doing. 

They’ll pay. They’ll feel every dart under his skin tenfold. 

Casey squeezed his fists down hard into the steering wheel – he may have heard it crack – but the agent didn’t let go until his knuckles turned chalk white. That’s working – the pain felt deserved, and that made it right. It cleared his head. With the images of Chuck pushed to the far recesses of his brain for the moment, Casey began formulating his mental checklist.

Break into a top security government facility – a den wrapped so tight that it made a Supermax federal penitentiary look like a damn kiddies daycare. 

Steal the most valuable intelligence asset in the world and vanish … and, more problematic, without getting killed or captured. 

Evade the best agents from all of the agencies, who would most certainly be summoned for this op, since the prize was the toxic and unattainable John Casey. 

Return undetected to Burbank, and somehow meld back into a life that they had.

“God,” he muttered, his head landing on the headrest with a thump as he rubbed his eyes. “Fucking piece of cake.”

-x-

With a series of clicks to fast forward through the monotony of Chuck’s life, the tape looped through hours of surveillance in minutes. 

The asset getting dressed. Look at him. Scrawny ass punk’ll be force fed some Marine’s PT when I get stationed underground.

The asset watching TV. Heh. Hope you got your fill. None of that where you’re going, kid.

The asset reading – comic books? For Chrissakes…

After ten minutes, McClure wanted to gouge his eyes out. “Smart ass little puke,” he said, scanning the screen while it sped through the transmission from the GLG-20. “Thought you could pull one over on the NSA, didn’t ya’?”

The asset sleeping. “Looks like the poor baby had a rough night,” the lieutenant grumbled, watching the video feed as Chuck tossed and turned, kicking off his blankets. The agent rolled his eyes and blazed ahead. 

The asset talking on the phone – dammit, no fucking audio! Those nerds – what good are they?

The asset on the computer, the asset getting ready for bed…

Whoa. Back it up. What the hell was that?

McClure stuck his face close to the screen, and he reversed the feed painstakingly, playing it frame-by-frame. An object that the asset held in his hand had caught the agent’s attention. Tilting his head to the side, he squinted at the monitor. “What are you holding…?” McClure whispered to himself. With a few clicks, the agent zoomed in on the object and waited for the software to refocus and magnify the target.

Hells bells and all that is unholy…

“Oh… oh… Isn’t that …” deliciously “incriminating...” McClure watched as the asset rubbed his thumb along the edge of the object, and leaned it next to his alarm clock.

…The asset settled back against the pillows and pushed his fingers through his hair, contemplating the ceiling for half a minute. What are you thinking? McClure wondered. Then, angling his head towards the empty side of the bed, Chuck’s dark eyes focused on something. He pulled it close to his body, lying there and holding it, sprawled and half-asleep. 

At first a look of shock swept over McClure’s face, but he chuckled softly as he tagged the timestamp on the tape so that he could quickly retrieve it later. 

“Major, I do believe… your asset is in love with you.”

-x-

A quick look at the speedometer told him to back off a little. Yeah, sure, the roads were desolate and empty on this stretch; the nearest car only came into sight when there was a good distance between the winding curves… but, Casey reminded himself, he couldn’t take the risk of getting stopped by the locals.

He could get lost in his thoughts out here. Twisted tree trunks, brown rolling hills of tired earth and barren landscapes. He had time to think. To strategize. 

But there was one thing he had to do first.

Bending forward in the driver’s seat, Casey reached into his back pocket to tug out his wallet. He swept his fingers into one of the slots, feeling around for the plain white business card he knew was stuffed behind his driver’s license Right there. Rolling the card between his fingers, Casey tossed the wallet in the passenger seat and examined the handwriting on the slip. It had been scrawled in a hurry. 

He hated lying to Chuck about this. In the past four months, Casey’s existence had become more transparent to his asset, his boyfriend, but this was one thing he had kept a secret. Okay, so maybe his over protectiveness was showing, but Jesus, it was for the best.

Casey narrowed his eyes at the numbers before averting his attention back the road, absently tapping the edge of the card on the steering wheel. The staccato beat didn’t drown out his gruff inner sounding voice. Just get it over with, dammit. He picked up his burner cell phone from the center console, and slid his thumb tentatively over the raised number pad.

… Severed cuts from the past don’t bleed if you never strip off the bindings. Never look under them. But now, the bandage was coming off in one giant tear. Oh, not for him. He didn’t give a shit. This time, it was Chuck’s open wound, the one Casey had so carefully stitched up, that needed to withstand the exposure. 

Shaking his head as he studied the card one more time – Christ, I don’t believe this – Casey punched the numbers on the phone and waited for someone to pick up.

-x-

“Whatever it is, agent, it must be vitally important to national security,” Beckman said, noticeably perturbed at the disturbance near noon on a Sunday. “I have a personal function to attend to today, so I expect this to go quickly.” 

The young agent tried not to stare. He had anticipated the general to be in her office, enthroned in her usual position, scowling at him from her plush leather chair. Earlier that day, he was almost certain she had been at the DNI center of operations, attending to the serious matter of debriefing the major before reassigning him. 

But now, she appeared to be standing in her kitchen, dressed casually, her copper hair loose on her shoulders. Not a starched uniform or painfully tight red bun in sight. The NSA agent wondered idly if she had furnished every room of her house with video conferencing equipment. 

He shuddered at the thought.

“Lieutenant.” Her voice held the crisp tone of impatience, sensing his arrogance with the news he was so keen to share. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I’m asking you to state the purpose of this interruption – one that was so urgent. I thought you would be occupied with the tasks of shutting down Operation Bartowski – Castle, the major and asset’s cover apartment, the –”

“That’s just it, general, you see –”

“Stop right there, agent. I was still speaking, but conceivably, you didn’t notice that in your agitated state.” The general paused, giving him a look meant to shrivel his backbone. “Obviously, you have news that is ready to burst out of you, McClure. Start at the beginning,” she said coolly, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Just the pertinent facts.”

“My apologies for the interruption, ma’am.” He squared his shoulders, hands clasped behind his back. “I have an update on the Major Casey situation. The 49b.”

“Major Casey has shipped out to his new assignment. Will this evidence alter my decision … or are you wasting my time?

“General, I think you’ll want to see this.”

She frowned. “What is it?”

“The NSA technicians that were dispatched to Burbank were… unable to recover the surveillance feeds. The evidence stored on the network – anything to support the disposition of the 49b – was lost.”

“So, if I am to understand you correctly, there is no change in status from last evening, and the mission failed to provide conclusive proof. I have to say, I’m still disappointed in this, lieutenant.” She folded her arms over her chest, and her brows furrowed. “On the other hand, I knew Bartowski was clever, but even I’m impressed by his aptitude. I may be able to use him – once he adapts to his new surroundings. Well,” the general sighed. “Go on.”

“However, ma’am the GLG-20 I had planted in the major’s bedroom–”

“– to monitor the asset this week –yes, I know.”

“Ma’am, the device had not been tampered with. The audio was somewhat garbled, but I think you’ll find the video –” and he broke it off to concentrate on finding the right word, at the same time suppressing a grin. “Well, let’s call it, enlightening.”

“Let’s see what you have.” McClure was pleased to hear that her interest had been piqued. 

The video feed appeared in a pop-up window at the bottom of the screen. After a moment, the asset sauntered into the room and flopped down on the bed in a gangly sprawl. Reaching for the TV remote, he flicked it on and began surfing through channels.

“Lieutenant.” With her steely gaze on McClure, she straightened to her five foot nothing to make her point. “The agency has enough video tape of the asset watching TV or playing video games to stretch to Venus and back,” she said. “Please tell me you have more than this.”

“I’ll just – um – fast forward through this part, ma’am.” The video flickered as it advanced, showing that Chuck hadn’t moved from the bed. “Ah. This is it.”

On the video feed, the kid stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Half a minute passed, and the general opened her mouth to speak, no doubt annoyed with the uneventful tape… but it pulled her in like a barbed fishhook to the mouth when Chuck rolled off of the bed, and dug his wallet out of his pants pocket. 

“This is where it gets good,” McClure whispered to himself.

The general flicked him a look of disdain, but quickly brought her eyes back to the screen. Chuck’s head was bent, his fingers sliding into the billfold, searching for something. It only took a short moment to get his hand on the object, and he tugged it out and held it low and shielded, like a close-kept secret.

“What… is the asset holding?” McClure heard the general ask. “I can’t make it out from this angle.”

“Neither could I at first. One moment, general. You’ll see.”

Watching intently by now, they could see Chuck’s shoulders relax, as if tension was leaving his body. The kid studied what looked to be a thin card, and after a few seconds, a crooked smile lit up his face. Fluffing his pillow, he rested his back against it, and swiped his thumb over the card lightly. Chuck dragged his fingers through his hair, looking weary, and reached over to his lamp – and the photograph fell away from his hand. The surveillance had a clean shot, and McClure captured the frame and zoomed in.

“Heartwarming, huh, general?” McClure chuckled. “Quite a pose – for the … ‘cover’. You see, I had to ask myself why the asset would carry such a cozy photo of his handler.” He nodded smugly towards the freeze frame. “He looks quite comfortable in that picture, sitting there at the table with the major standing behind him… those strong and secure arms wrapped around him… Eh.” McClure wrinkled his nose, and let his eyes dart to Beckman’s face. “You’ve known the major for many years, correct, general? I understand he prides himself on being a – excuse me, ma’am, hard ass. I was wondering… have you ever seen him smile? Until now, that is. He looks so … happy with his asset.”

If Beckman was surprised by what she had just witnessed, her face gave away nothing. Instead, she uncrossed her arms and edged in closer to the monitor. “Is there more?” she asked, giving him a brusque look. 

“As a matter of fact, yes ma’am, there is.”

“Dear God,” she muttered. “Okay, agent. Proceed.” The next loop started with Chuck staring up at the ceiling again. The general raised her hand. “If this is going where I think it is, lieutenant, please feel free to edit this segment out.”

“Hmm? Oh…oh, no, no, no, general, I can assure you this is – ah…” The young NSA agent cleared his throat. “It’s not what you think.”

“Let’s see it, then.”

“Yes, ma’am.” McClure hoped he didn’t sound too eager. 

When the tape started up again, the kid was still on his back, rubbing his eyes sleepily. But they fluttered open, and his head lolled to the side, towards the empty half of the bed. A long arm swept out to the side, drifting over the covers until he had the other pillow in his fist. 

“McClure, is this going somewhere?”

He tipped his chin at the screen. “I assure you; one more minute, general.”

Beckman heaved a sigh of exasperation, but shifted her eyes to continue watching the monitor. 

On the tape, something was … niggling at Chuck, and eventually he pulled the pillow close to his body – Casey’s pillow. The kid brought it over his chest, and slung his arms around it. Whispering something indiscernible under his breath, he buried his nose into the down, filling his lungs deeply with the scent. 

The general’s eyes widened. It was an act of intimacy, and they could read him, see through him when he did it.

McClure shrugged. “I’d say the kid has spent some time in the major’s bed, wouldn’t you, general? That … lonesome look on his face… sad eyes… Yeah, that kid has a reason to –”

Beckman held up a hand to cut him off. “I’ve seen enough.” The agent saw her move out of range of the in-home camera, and when she reappeared she was holding her cell phone. “Stay put, agent.” 

The lieutenant silently bristled at the order. Whoever she had called, the person was several rungs higher up the food chain, because the bitch didn’t think twice before muting her audio while she spoke. He watched while she made one call, followed quickly by another. 

After a few minutes had dragged by, she glanced at the monitor and unmuted the speakers. “The major has not met his transport team at the Air Force Base,” she told him. “And, he’s not answering his phone.”

“Ma’am, what would you –”

“He was last heard from at Castle. Tell me, is there evidence that the major displaced or removed anything from the base?” A thought occurred to her. “Check the armory.” 

McClure returned a minute later. “Uh, ma’am. There’s an … issue with the armory.

“What is it?” 

He raked his hands through his hair. “It’s … gone?”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“Ma’am, it’s been cleaned out.”

Finally. Now, the general looked pissed. 

“Lieutenant, I have to conclude that Major Casey has gone rogue,” she announced, her tone brittle. “Based upon what we have witnessed from the surveillance, I believe he’ll attempt to retrieve his former asset. Furthermore, Major Casey may have accessed the NSA database to ascertain where we are holding him.” She shot McClure a threatening look that he knew was not meant for him. “I’m revising your assignment on a temporary basis. You will not report to our facility in Sterling or assume your role as security lead for the asset.” 

“Yes, ma’am. My temporary role…?”

“Find Casey.” Her voice cut like a honed knife. “Stop him. He cannot be permitted to take this irrational vendetta any further – or to extricate Bartowski.”

McClure didn’t dare breathe. Was he really being tasked to bring in the major? How could this get better? “One question, if I may, general,” he asked. “Am I authorized to use lethal force to stop him?”

The general snorted humorlessly. “Don’t fool yourself, lieutenant,” she replied, her gaze pinning him. “I’ll spell it out for you. We both know that Major Casey is an extremely dangerous man. And, at this moment, he’s equipped with an impressive arsenal – the agency’s own weaponry is at his disposal. He’s off the grid, and dead-set on breaking into one of our secure bunkers to repossess a man he apparently … cares for deeply.” She stopped briefly, and her scowl darkened. “Lethal force is the only way you will be able to bring in Major Casey,” she told him. “He won’t let himself get captured alive.”

“Yes, ma’am. I understand.” 

Oh, McClure thought, shifting on his feet anxiously. It just got better.

-x-

“You told me … to call if Chuck’s circumstances were altered by the DNI.”

A brief pause made Casey wonder if the call had been disconnected. “Yes… so, you’re saying –”

“Yeah. This is the call.” Casey loosened a surly grunt while reading the battered road sign ahead. “I need to trigger Operation Crossroads.”

“You’re asking for my help.” There was worry mingling with anticipation on the other end. 

“You know what I’m up against.” Casey rubbed a palm over a stubbly cheek, carefully picking his words. “It won’t be a one man show.” Bitterest words he ever had to chew out. He couldn’t do it alone. 

“Where are you?”

“Listen, are you in or out?” Casey growled into the phone, darting a glance at the rear view mirror to see if the Dodge had picked up any unwanted attention. “If you’re not in with me, I need to end this call. What’s your answer?”

“I’m in.”

“Okay.” He worked to keep his voice even, but he couldn’t help a sardonic noise from escaping past his lips. How ironic is this?

“Where are you?” the voice wanted to know.

“Staying off the grid. No airports or cities. I’m four days out. Where are you?”

“That’s classified.”

“Jesus, is this the way it’s gonna be?” Casey huffed. “‘Cause if it is, I’ll take my chances with –”

“Tripoli.”

“Can you be in DC?”

“I’ll get there.”

“Good.” Casey let out a long breath, shoved the card back behind his license. “We’ll be in touch.”

-x-

God was punishing him. God hated him. That had to be it. Because in his thrumming, pounding skull, he couldn’t land on a just cause for the ice pick that was being wedged between his eyes. 

Oh, no.

Moving his head just barely, it sloshed like the last pickle in a jar. A wavering thick surface was over him, all around him. It rippled and distorted his vision, but beyond the surface, a person was looking down at him. He tried to punch through, but his arm wasn’t taking instructions from his brain at the moment.

Why would God do this to him? Maybe he was being punished for letting five years of his life dribble away. Or for actualizing the government’s worst nightmare by being the most unsuitable host conceivable for their Intersect. Perhaps, God was giving him a lesson for distrusting the one person who had earned his trust… Or, for lying to Ellie the past year when there was no one more deserving of the truth.

Ellie… wedding… champagne. 

Oh, God. That’s it.

He wanted to rollover, let go of a whimper, and die on the spot. 

But, his head answered the request with a throb behind his ears, reminding him he wasn’t in charge of that decision. Chuck licked his chapped lips, tasted the warmth and wetness. Okay, he felt that; it was real. Maybe he would live today.

Swallowing roughly, his saliva almost backed up and forced a choke when it raked over the sandpaper stuck at the back of his mouth. Coppery, bitter, sluggish.

Casey would tease him for this, for overindulging in shots with Morgan, mixed with flutes of champagne. Oh, pleasepleaseplease, don’t think about booze right now, he reminded himself. Too late. His belly got into the act by pushing a sour, vinegary tang into his gullet. 

The kid groaned.

Hold on… Casey wouldn’t let him die like this. Oh, he would chuckle softly, murmuring small torments while he swept the pad of this thumb along his jaw… giving him a hard time for doing this to himself. But the agent would coax him through his hangover too, starting with a cool, tall glass of water. Let him sip it, before gently rolling him over on his side, encircled in strong, solid arms… Let him rest his head on Casey’s chest, light hair tickling his cheek, and listen to the reverberation of his heart.

“Ca –,” Chuck coughed, swallowed again, trying to get his voice to work. “Case –? C-can you bring me some water?”

The buzzing in his head was drowning out Casey’s voice. Because, why else could he not he hear a reply? Casey would pipe up with an answer – even to tell him he could damn well go get it himself. 

His bleary mind grappled with something else that felt strange too. There was no shifting of weight as the mattress dipped or rose under Casey’s bulk. Swiping his hand to the side, under the cool sheets, Chuck wiggled his fingers, reaching out to caress the other man’s heated bare skin. 

The cool sheets went on until his fingertips curled over the edge of the mattress. Oh. The kid cringed. He must’ve been a sloppy mess last night for Casey to throw in the spare bedroom to sleep it off. 

“Caseee?” he croaked a little louder, his throat burning as the hoarse sound seeped out. “… can you hear me…?”

Casey was too battle-scarred, too weathered by life to let himself get drunk like this… wasn’t he? It would mean losing control, something the man never allowed himself to do…

… except that one time when Ilsa returned with her not-so-nice-arms-dealer-fiancé, showing up at the Grand Seville. Boy, arms dealers know how to drink vodka…

Oh, no…not vodka...oh, God…

…Well, just maybe, just one more time, Chuck’s boyfriend did get tanked last night. Because the only reason Casey would ignore him so blatantly, so cruelly, was if he was in the other room suffering the same railroad-spike-in-the-head hangover Chuck was condemned to.

The sound Chuck made was desperate, breathing hard, waiting to hear Casey grumbling at him from across the hallway. His throat would be scratchy like sand when he spoke – Chuck could almost hear it. 

‘Move your scrawny ass, Bartowski. And bring two waters – and some aspirin while you’re at it.’

Chuck lifted his hand – the weight of it had changed to lead –and dug the heel into his eye, rubbing it to unloosen the hard crust that was caked over his lids. One brown eye opened to a slit to take in his surroundings. There was no sunlight glinting off of the mirror over the dresser. No rays of light slanting in through the blinds at the window. There were no blinds… 

Hell, there’s no window…

And, when did Casey have time last night to paint the spare room gleaming white? 

“Ah. Very good. You’re waking up.”

A cool dry fingertip pressed the skin under his eye; another rested on his brow and tugged up, forcing his eye open.

“Whuh!” The kid jerked his head to the side when he was blinded by a thin beam of white light shining into his eye. “Owww! … gotta headache, Case… no…” He swatted at the hand blindly, but just like that, it was gone.

“Pupils are reactive. Another good sign.” Why was Casey doing this to him? And why was he talking from the end of a tunnel?

“’mmm ‘kay… stop…” Swatting again, the kid only managed to grab another handful of air. “…too bright…”

“Good. No sign of negative effects from the sedatives. Everything appears to be normal.”

Immediately, his brain shrieked to a halt. That wasn’t Casey’s rough low voice, coming from the person standing very close to the bed.

Blinking slowly, the kid lifted his head from the pillow and stared into a face that was still blurry around the edges. “Wh-who the hell’re you? What’re doing here… m’ house?” And why did Casey let a strange man into their spare room…? Chuck attempted to prop himself up, but a firm hand on his chest held him in place, pushing him back onto the mattress.

“Just relax. Everything’s going to be fine, Mister Bartowski.”

The kid tried to squirm out from under the man’s hand, but when that didn’t work, he blinked again, squinting up at the unfamiliar face. Pale skin. Translucent, like the film on boiled-over milk. After a few seconds, Chuck’s vision sharpened into focus…

…and lightening fast, the kid’s eyes rolled back into his head, eyelids fluttering as the images walloped him like a sledge hammer to the crown.

A flotilla of paddle boats on a serene black pond. Ivy climbing and coiled on the outside of a crumbling brick building. A severed head floating in a jar. A wall of framed parchment diplomas. The flotilla.

Chuck sucked in a breath and his eyes flared wide at the man leaning over him. “Oh… oh no, no, no,” he heard himself stammer. “This pl-place…? Why am I –?” 

The man ignored the question. “What did you just do?” he inquired, sounding vastly intrigued. 

The kid didn’t reply. Instead, he brought his hand up and rubbed it over his eyes. Hell, he had to do something to block the bluish-white light that wanted to edge its way in behind his eye sockets. Now, if only he could hit the delete key on the Intersect, and erase the chilling images that had flooded his brain.

Oh, and this, God? There’s nothing funny about this. Because, apparently, thanks once again to the Intersect lodged between his ears, now had to be the time to find out that there was one thing in the universe viler than a champagne and vodka lemon drop hangover. And that was having a flash during said hangover.

Where he was, why it wasn’t Casey standing over him; these all became secondary for the moment. 

“Please tell me there’s aspirin,” the kid moaned. 

“Wait, did you just…?” The black haired stranger gazed down at him, and Chuck felt the sting of opaque blue eyes dissecting him at the cellular level. “Fascinating,” the man whispered. “Does the Intersect always work that fast?”

The lean muscle in his back screamed as Chuck attempted to push himself up on one arm, but the stranger would have none of it. A small oof escaped the kid’s lips right about the time he felt his back meet the mattress a little more insistently than before. There was no two ways about it – the man was much stronger than he looked, Chuck decided. His hands – my God, they were huge. There was nothing lithe or willow-like about the stranger. “The Inter – wha?” Chuck stuttered.

“I’ve also been briefed on your level of intelligence, Mister Bartowski,” the man cut in, “so playing dumb with me won’t get you anywhere.” Keeping his palm pressed down on the kid’s chest, the man looked straight down into Chuck’s bewildered face. “Or, since we’ll be … working together, would you prefer it if I call you Chuck?” 

“How do you… do I know you?” A spike of fear sent heat rolling up the kid’s neck and flaming his cheeks. The man knew him, knew his name. Closing his eyes, the kid resigned himself to the most pressing, scary fact of all. That this odd man knew way more than his name. 

The identity of the Intersect. He knows I’m the Intersect.

Oh, not good.

“I’d like you to stay prone until the effects of the tranquilizers – oh, and of course, the alcohol – have been flushed from your system,” the stranger said. “We’d like to monitor how the sedatives may affect… the Intersect.” Chuck stared up at him, and an actual smile appeared on the stranger’s face. “But, it seems everything is in working order.”

“Working order? How it will affect the Intersect? Wait – are you saying I was tranqued?!” Chuck tried to catch his breath, hiding a shudder. And the way his fingers shook when he pulled the blankets up around his bare chest… well, it wasn’t just the drugs swimming in his system, he knew. It was the way the dark haired man had said it, the way he drew it out. The stranger had meant only the Intersect. Not the man holding it, not the vessel of the Intersect. Not Chuck Bartowski. 

“You can call me Doctor Reynolds,” the man said, smirking at him. He lowered his clipboard and focused his attention on an IV. “Lead Scientist of the Intersect Project.”

The kid hadn’t noticed the IV until the strange man glanced at it. Letting his line of sight follow the trail of clear tubes, he saw the lead was attached to the top of his hand, held down with clear medical tape. He couldn’t feel it. 

“Take this off of me,” Chuck started, tugging at his hand. Normally he was more intelligible, he knew, but his brain was failing him on all levels right now.

“No, leave it alone.” The other man caught his hand and held it still. “It’s only temporary. We didn’t want to risk de-hydration. Especially in your slightly intoxicated condition. 

Chuck huffed but gave up on that battleground for now. The tranqs had left him wrung out dry. “Waita minute… did you say… lead?”

“Yes, you heard me correctly,” the man offered up, his attention diverted to a monitor with a digital display – rows of numbers and readouts that were jumbled together and made no sense to Chuck. A flicker in the back of his mind drummed up an image of his sister in her scrubs. Ellie would freak if she saw him like this.

“There will be plenty of time to discuss my role here – and yours,” the man went on. Chuck flinched when there was a pat on his shoulder. “As I said, it takes a while for the drugs to get out of your system. Alcohol, two tranqs, and sedatives are an evil concoction, young man. Try to get some rest.”

“But… where am I? Why am I in the hospital?” His cleared his throat, and wow – finally – his voice had lost some of that harsh grating. The kid wanted to sit up again, but the man was giving him a look of warning. He stayed put. “And where’s Casey?” Chuck asked.

“Major Casey? Your former handler’s location is classified.”

“Classified?! What are you talking about?” More awake than a minute ago, his dark wide eyes darted around the room, really taking in his surroundings for the first time since he woke up. Four stark walls, a small dresser, a chair and table. All white. Clinical and sterile. “Oh, no,” Chuck said, realization pinging him smack in the forehead as he glanced around the room. Something was decidedly… off. “Is this…? Oh, please tell me, she didn’t… this isn’t a –?”

The man frowned. “Admittedly, new residents aren’t taken with the idea at first, but give it time.”

“Resident? But…residents of where?”

“That’s also classified,” the black haired man replied evenly. “There’s very little I can share with you regarding your … status.”

“My status?!” Reflexively, Chuck pulled the blanket up even higher over his chest, fighting the urge to yank it over his head and close his eyes. He’d wait to wake up again, wait for Casey’s skillful long fingers to coast down his arm, tickling the bare skin, and telling him to get up, and forget this dream. “I – I don’t know what any of this means…” he faltered. “What the hell is going on?”

Huh. The way that came out … Well, there was a chance that living with Casey was rubbing off on him. 

Instead of getting irked with his new prize, the doctor gave him a smile that reminded Chuck more of a wolf baring its teeth. “It means that we’ve been waiting eagerly for you, Human Intersect,” he said, tucking the clipboard under his arm. “We want to find out everything about that very special noggin of yours. How it works, how your brain interacts with it, sifts through the data and images, so that we can duplicate it in our agents, upgrade their capabilities. Having you in the field impeded progress on our studies, but now –”

“I don’t want to be part of your studies. I want a chance at normal, and that means getting this thing out of my head. Your scientist should be able –”

“The Intersect isn’t going anywhere.”

Without another word, the doctor’s hand fell to the bed sheet, and Chuck felt it brush over his knee cap. The kid kicked out with his foot, but that only earned him a brutally cruel squeeze into his flesh.

“Gah!” Chuck inhaled sharply and winced at the fingers digging into his leg. “Get your hand – ” he started to sputter, but the man held up his other hand, waving him off.

“Ah-ah,” he doctor told him, his voice quiet and cold. “Hold it in… good,” he added when the kid’s mouth snapped shut, recoiling from the pain. “Let’s just get this out in the open right now. Your stay here can go one of two ways, Chuck. You can cooperate with the scientists, and it’ll go fine for you.” Chuck almost choked when he felt the man’s thumb make a smooth circle over his knee in an attempt to placate his patient. “Or you can fight us,” Reynolds said – and then he squeezed down hard one more time. “If you choose that path…well, it’ll hurt.” With one last black look, he unclenched his fingers and removed his hand, picking up his clipboard. “I’d rather not have to sedate you again.”

“I won’t work with you,” the kid said, swallowing to keep the tremble out of his voice. Yes, his head was still floating somewhere near the speckled white ceiling tiles, and, damn right, he was more afraid than the day he met John Casey – staring down the barrel of his gun with a laser sight pointed dead-on over his heart. But Chuck’s face flushed red hot. “You can tell the general I have no intention of cooperating with her Intersect team.” Chuck brought his legs up, bending them at the knees, on the off chance the man would try dig in to prove a point one more time. “There’s only one agent I’ll work with – one that I trust – and that’s John Casey. So, I’ll ask you again: where is he?”

“He’s gone,” the doctor announced blandly. “The general has informed me he’s moved on to another assignment.” His tone told Chuck that he considered the topic over. “Some advice? Your adjustment will be easier if you forget about your previous handler. Forget the place you came from, the person you were… all of it, kid. Now, get some rest.” 

Okay, Chuck knew he was still half-drugged and numb from the shock, but it didn’t stop him from feeling a greasy horror coating his stomach. They were going to do this. It wasn’t the dress rehearsal or the honeymoon. He was in a real underground, iron-clad, Beckman-approved bunker. He was trapped.

“I want to talk to him. Major Casey,” Chuck blurted out. His voice sounded frantic, even to his own ears. “Get him on the phone.”

“They always want to talk to their handlers when they find out their status has changed,” the man grumbled under his breath. Rolling his eyes, Reynolds went back to work, scribbling some notes on the clipboard. Then, he looked up at the kid with a hard stare. “I said get some rest. That’s an order. You should get used to following them. It’s another habit that will make your transition smoother. ” 

“But–”

Before the kid could plow ahead, the man turned his back on him and strode towards the steel door – and why hadn’t he noticed there was a door? He peered at it from the bed. The fact that it was smooth and had no visible handle – no way to free himself – made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, like icy fingers grazing his nape.

“Wait! That’s it?” Chuck felt his throat clamming up. “If he’s not … then what…there has to be more to tell me…”

Pivoting on his heel, the man eyed him one more time with the faintest hint of a smile. “Oh. I almost forgot,” he said. “Welcome home, Chuck.”

-x-End Casey vs. Human Elements-x- 

To Be Continued....

Heh. Will you join the boys and I on the ride? 

No worries, lovelies. The finale of this trilogy, Casey vs. the Way Back, is written and ready to go. 

I want to give a big thanks to those of you who left kudos or comments. I haven't posted much here in AO3, so I appreciate the kindness. Thank you!

The adventure continues ... soon .....

Much love,

-skye

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I love to hear from readers.  
> -skye


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